The Adventure of 221C Baker Street
by theredheadedleague
Summary: The new neighbor at 221 Baker Street leads Sherlock and Watson into even more mystery, international intrigue, and danger than ever before. Starts a little bit past "The Blind Banker". Eventual: Johnlock, SherlOC, Mystrade, MorMor & probably more.
1. Chapter 1

_How do I even begin to explain what a difference has been made in the world? How do I write the story of_ \- No, that's not right. John shook his head, deleting the last few sentences. He'd been trying to write a new post on his blog, but had gotten stuck. He'd been typing away for hours, but nothing seemed quite right. Mercifully, he was distracted by Mrs. Hudson, who knocked on the door as she walked in. "Yoo-hoo, are you boys around?"

John set aside his laptop, saying, "Sherlock's out, but I don't have anything planned."

"Good. I need you to help me move some boxes," Mrs. Hudson smiled, John following her into the hallway and marvelling at the stacks of moving bins that had been piled up.

"What's going on?" John asked, picking up a plastic box labeled 'clothes'. "You aren't leaving Baker Street, are you?"

"Oh, no, dear. Quite the opposite. You boys are finally getting a new neighbor. Someone's renting 221C." Mrs. Hudson picked up a box of linens, carrying it to the flat, which had been repainted and was slowly filling with different things.

She was just about to add more when a corgi ran in front of them, barking and looking for attention. "Chester, come back here!" A redhead ran over, scooping up the dog. She turned to the others, explaining, "I'm so sorry. I had him in his cage, since I was moving in." She shifted the dog, freeing her right hand to shake John's. "Alice Reilly. You're John Watson, aren't you? Mrs. Hudson told me."

"Ah, right," John nodded, setting the box down and looking about the flat. As Mrs. Hudson went back for another box, he leaned in to ask, "You really want to live here? I mean, you've heard about Sherlock?"

Alice nodded, smiling sympathetically. "Mrs. Hudson warned me, don't worry. To be fair, I work for Scotland Yard, so I'm in and out of the house at all hours. And I can sleep through a lot."

"Scotland Yard? What division?" John asked as they headed back to the pile of boxes in the front hall.

Alice picked up a cardboard box of books, telling him, "I'm in homicide and violent crimes. I've heard you two are there a lot."

John nodded. He and Sherlock were there a lot, and they had noticed the new cubicle in Lestrade's division. While they'd seen someone's things being moved in, they hadn't met the new sergeant. Mrs. Hudson stopped them on the stairs to ask, "Should I set the kitchen things on the countertops?"

"That's fine, Mrs. Hudson," Alice nodded, picking up another box.

It took them half an hour to get everything into the flat and organized by room. While John helped Alice unpack the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson began to make tea, telling them both that, "I'll cook tonight, if you two want. John, text Sherlock and let him know, just in case he's home." She set down two mugs before going up to her flat with an, "I'll see you around 7, alright?"

John stayed to help Alice unpack, telling her all about life at Baker Street. "We get people coming up to consult at all hours, and sometimes we're broken into for no reason. What else is there to know? Sherlock's… well, he's Sherlock. He's quite a character, as you probably know."

"So I've heard," Alice nodded, stacking plates in a cabinet. "I've read his blog. And I've read yours, to be honest. I wanted to know who I'd be living near, and who my neighbors would be. He seems like quite a character. I guess I'll see this evening, won't I?"

Sure enough, she did. When Alice got to Mrs. Hudson's flat, she'd barely stepped through the door when Sherlock began talking. "John says I had to come and be social. So hello. I'm Sherlock Holmes, your neighbor, consulting detective, all of those pleasantries that people use. Talk about work, about themselves - well, I do that a lot - ask you how you're doing, not that they really care-"

"Sherlock, dear, be nice," Mrs. Hudson warned, giving Alice a hug and taking the plate of dessert that she had brought. "Thank you."

"Alice Reilly," Alice smiled, shaking Sherlock's hand as he regarded her thoughtfully. "I'll be working with you too. I'm in homicide and violent crimes over at the Yard."

"Hmm, I see. I'm sure John and Mrs. Hudson have told you all about me already. I do my work at all hours of the day, play the violin when I'm bored, and you'll hear random bouts of gunfire from our flat. Does any of that bother you?" He turned to look at her from the window, where he had paced over while he was talking.

"No."

"Then you're either more interesting than I thought, or you already knew all of that."

"The latter."

"Oh, really?" He paced back, asking, "How do you know?"

Alice smiled, speaking quickly as she outlined the facts. "John told me about the work, but then again, with consulting work, it's really 24/7 no matter what you do. You've go a violinist's hands, and you've got rosin under your nails. That means either you've been doing a lot of work in music shops lately, or you've been playing music a lot. But you were out all day today, which means you've got another case. The random bouts of gunfire are obvious enough. There's a bullet hole in the ceiling of my kitchen, which is right under your sitting room. So either someone shot at one of you in there, or you did that. I'd have bet on the latter, since you seem like the kind of person who gets bored easily but hates leaving the house if it isn't for work or for something incredibly interesting. So the local shooting galleries are out, which means you shoot at the walls."

"Interesting, and all sufficiently correct." Sherlock paused for a second before adding, "Now John."

"Oh, no, don't make me a part of your test," John instructed. "I'm going to help Mrs. Hudson with dinner. You two talk and get along." He left the room, but Alice turned to Sherlock and started talking.

"Ex-soldier who's been wounded in battle. I'd say left shoulder, but he carries himself like he was limping for a while. I'd say psychosomatic, coinciding with the shoulder wound. He's a blogger, you can tell by the hands. Not a computer tech or anything, since he remarked about being a doctor earlier. But he has a typist's hands. So he writes a blog. Maybe part of therapy. He's been out today, doing the shopping, but then he came to help me move in. Seems like a nice enough fellow." She paused, but Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Fine, he's been out to the store, most likely the one a few blocks down. How do I know? There's dried mud on his shoes, and that road always stays muddy, even a few days after a decent rainstorm. Plus he had a receipt shoved into his coat pocket. Have I passed your test?"

"How many steps are there leading up to this flat?"

Alice had no trouble answering that question. "Seventeen."

"Seventeen? I've lived here for years, and I don't even know that," John remarked as he carried out a stack of plates from the kitchen, set them on the table, and went back to help Mrs. Hudson carry dishes or food out to the dining room.

Sherlock nodded slowly, taking a sip of his tea. "Curious."

"What's curious?"

"Curious that you have a certain gift. Most people pass things every day and yet never notice them, like John with the steps. But you, Miss Alice, seem to have a knack for observing things, instead of just seeing them." He flopped down into a chair, throwing his legs over the side restlessly. "You will make a promising Scotland Yard employee."

"Thank you, I guess." She took a seat across from him. "I'm glad I've finally gained your approval to have my job. It's not like I went through an interview process."

"Oh, Lestrade would hire a monkey if it knew how to type and make phone calls," Sherlock scoffed. "I, personally, have a much better screening process."

"You're not the one who hired me, though," Alice smiled.

"I do like to know a thing or two about the neighbors," Sherlock told her. "And yes, I am hiring you. If I ever need a pair of eyes in Scotland Yard, if I ever need someone to do legwork on a case that isn't at least a 7, I'll call on you."

"Thank you," she said hesitantly. "What does that mean, though?"

"Oh, you know what it means. Danger. Blood and guts. Maybe even a little glory. But the game is worth all of it," he assured her, jumping up again as Mrs. Hudson called them for dinner. "I expect you to be ready to be called in tomorrow morning. The rest of Scotland Yard is useless, so I'll have to rely on you."

* * *

A.N.: So here I am, writing more about Sherlock. I always seem to come back to it. I had a new idea, for some new plot twists and the like. So I'm going to be writing a lot more consistently (minus finals week, when things get stressful), but overall, I'll try to post a lot more often and write something even more intricate and even more Sherlockian. It's a process. But thank you all for sticking with me. It means a lot. As always, any questions, comments, suggestions, or PM's are welcome. Love you all!


	2. Chapter 2

Alice left for work early in the morning, signing in and heading to her cubicle. Before long, Lestrade was standing by her desk, asking her to talk to him in his office. She nodded, following him into the room. As soon as the door was closed, another man stepped out of the shadows, slightly leaning on his umbrella as he shook her hand. "Mycroft Holmes. Ms. Reilly, we have much to discuss."

"I assume you want to know about Sherlock."

"She's a bright one, Greg," Mycroft nodded to Lestrade, who silently agreed. He already knew. "As a matter of fact, yes. I would be prepared to offer you a considerable sum of money to keep an eye on him. Nothing too major, but just watch him. My brother can be rather troubled at times, which can lead him to turn to, ah, alternative methods of entertainment. He's quit smoking, but he's rather fond of other drugs, which I would rather have you watch for than that landlady of yours."

"Alright," Alice nodded, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "He seems fine to me."

Mycroft shook his head. "Just wait until he gets bored, or until something upsets him too much. He's fond of saying that he turns his emotions off in favor of his work. Well, we both know that that isn't how it works. He just likes to think so, which just makes him even more of a danger to himself."

"Okay," Alice said, looking between the two of them. "Is there anything else?"

"You're a fair bit like him. Use your abilities for good, and do not turn into my brother," Mycroft warned. "Do not make the mistake that your gifts are slowed by your humanity, but do not let them be hindered by humility. Greg will let me know about your progress, I am sure."

"With all due respect, Mr. Holmes, will he be reporting to you every night?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, Alice smiling a bit and explaining that, "WIth a marriage falling apart, no matter how desperately he tries to tape it together, there's no shame in seeing someone who could be considered your superior. Especially one who controls almost the entirety of the British government."

Lestrade stood behind his desk, asking, "Are you insinuating that…"

"I'm much more than insinuating. You're wearing the same deodorant. Now, normally that wouldn't mean much, but it's a different brand than the one you wore when you hired me. Either you've broken your pattern, or something else is up. Not to mention that the dirt on your shoes doesn't occur in your part of London. And you two have coffee cups from the same place, so you were clearly at least meeting up this morning. Besides, you looked at each other when I first brought this up. Don't worry, I won't breathe a word to anyone." Alice crossed her arms, waiting.

"Very well, then," Lestrade clapped his hands together. "Back to work."

It was midafternoon when John appeared, knocking on the side of her cubicle. Alice stopped typing away at the report she had been working on, spinning around in her chair. "Let's grab some coffee. You look like you've got something on your mind, and I'm dying to stretch my legs and get away from the computer."

As they walked, John outlined what was going on. "Sherlock's off on a case that's got him running all over London. Someone's started sending him puzzles to solve before bombs go off. You saw that story about the explosion on Baker Street a couple of days before you moved in? That had something to do with it."

"You want my help finding the bomber? I'd look for a solitary, probably young man. Most likely white, they tend to be serial killers much more than minorities. I'd say he's -"

John was shaking his head. "Actually, Sherlock's off on a case, but Mycroft, his brother, he's sent us something to investigate that Sherlock's put me in charge of. I know his methods, but, problem is, I'm a doctor. I don't investigate like he does, like you do. So I need your help."

"Not a problem." They sat outside of a cafe while John explained all about the Bruce-Partington plans and the mysterious death of Andrew West. "I'd talk to the family. Not just his fiancee. Make sure you talk to anyone who lives there, anyone who visits. You said there wasn't a lot of blood on the tracks?" she clarified as she took a sip of her coffee.

John nodded. "That's odd, isn't it? Bloke jumps in front of a train, and yet there's almost no blood? I'm heading out to take a look at the tracks myself in a little while."

"Hmm. I'd almost say he wasn't killed there. Maybe he was killed with a blunt object and dumped there, so it would look like a suicide," Alice offered, watching the traffic stream past. "I'd bet on that."

"Thanks. I'll look into it." John nodded, looking away before asking, "So what do you think of Baker Street?"

"It's perfect. Close enough to the Yard, and Mrs. Hudson's lovely. I hardly hear you at night. Sherlock… well, I block it out when he runs up and down the stairs in the middle of the night. He's civil enough. He lets me work up in your flat if he's experimenting. Says it helps to have a fresh perspective, even though he's Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock Holmes doesn't seem to do perspectives other than his own. So I sit there and write reports for Lestrade, and he experiments away. We'll say a couple of things, but as long as we don't interrupt each other's work, it works."

"That's good. We've all been saying he needs to be social. I'm glad it's with someone who can handle him."

"I just know not to put up with everything," she shrugged. "Have you been to the Wickman Gallery? Rumor has it they have a new Old Master that they're unveiling tonight. Vermeer, I think. Sorry, I just saw the advert on the side of a bus."

"I haven't gotten the chance, but Sherlock's been talking about it."

"He's an art fan?" Alice leaned back in her chair. "Maybe I'll take him with me."

"Just be prepared for his comments about everything and everyone in the gallery," John warned.

She would never get the chance. That evening, Sherlock ran past her on the stairs, bursting into his flat to find his laptop. Curious, Alice followed him upstairs, watching him type away like someone's life depended upon it. Just as she was about to ask what he was doing, her mobile phone began to ring. Alice ducked into the hall to take the call, returning a moment later to find Sherlock buttoning on his coat and grabbing his scarf. "I'll be out tonight," he told her, checking his pockets for a gun.

"So will I," she admitted with a sigh. "I've just been called in. Apparently understaffed days mean I have to come back."

"Goodnight, Alice." He pulled his scarf on, heading out of the door. "Feel free to stay here and read when you come home from work. I know you've been eyeing some of my books."

"Goodnight, Sherlock." She watched him tromp down the stairs, but raced after the detective to grab his arm. "Sherlock?" He raised an eyebrow, as if to say, ' _What? You're making me late_.' Alice bit her lip, but decided to tell him, "Sherlock, be careful, okay?"

He and John returned home in the middle of the night, quite shaken. Alice was sitting in Sherlock's armchair, reading one of the old volumes of criminal studies in the early 1880s that he had collected. Chester, her corgi, slept at her feet. She put her glasses back on, looking between them. "What happened to you two? You look like you've seen a ghost, John. Here, I'm going to make tea. Then you two owe me an explanation."


	3. Chapter 3

"Sherlock!" Alice burst into the flat, not bothering to knock. She held up a plastic bag filled with colorful round orbs suspended in a viscous liquid. "Why are you storing eyeballs in my refrigerator?"

"I ran out of space here, what with the head in my refrigerator," Sherlock shrugged, setting down the Erlenmeyer flask he had been working with.

Alice sighed, setting the bag down on the table. "Fine. I'll hold on to them for now, but just… warn me next time, okay? What are you working on?"

"I'm trying to prove that the coagulated material found on a victim's coat was pig blood, not human. The DNA analysis takes forever to get back, but I've isolated a compound that should give results within minutes. I'm testing it out on several types of blood, which is why I have bags of it in the vegetable drawer."

She stood from where she had taken a seat across from the complicated setup, moving to stand next to Sherlock and look over his notes. "Interesting. It looks pretty promising. How long until you know you've got it for sure?"

"I still have a few trials to run. If you're not busy, you can grab a pair of gloves and help me." He gestured with his elbow as he pipetted a blue solution into a test tube. "They're over there."

"I've got laundry going, but it won't be out of the dryer for a while." Alice pulled on a pair of gloves, still appalled. "You're letting me touch your chemistry set?"

"I trust you with it," he confided, measuring out a couple of milliliters of a solution. "You and I think similarly. We may operate differently, but you know my methods and how to use them. I have all the confidence in the world that you won't mess this up."

"Well thank you, Sherlock. I'm honored."

That's how John found them several hours later, working as a team in the makeshift lab that had stemmed from what once was a dining room table, muttering a few words but mostly being able to read what the other was thinking. They were immersed in the flow of their work, making notes and pipetting solutions. It was only after John coughed and went, "Am I interrupting something?" that they looked up and acknowledged him.

"Not at all. Research project. We're quite close to proving something too," Alice explained, pushing her glasses up with her wrist as not to touch them with anything on her gloves. "Coagulation of pig blood and human blood after death is similar, but it's differentiable fairly easily, assuming you have the right chemicals."

"Uh-huh." John set his shopping bags down on the counter, heading for the refrigerator and saying, "If anyone cares, I'm restocking the fr- Sherlock, what the hell? I thought we discussed keeping body parts in the refrigerator." Sherlock and Alice shared a smile, Alice going back to work as Sherlock went to deal with his appalled flatmate.

That evening, Sherlock sat on the sofa, working on a blog post about his experiments on the coagulation of blood after death, and the differentiation between human and animal blood. Alice had taken over the other side of the sofa and was reading the third volume in the old series of criminology books that Sherlock had on one of his bookshelves. Chester lay between them, dozing after they'd taken him for a walk around the neighborhood, chatting about old cases and what Lestrade had on the roster for the Yard.

Alice's phone buzzed, and she checked the message before shaking her head and going back to her reading. Chester flopped sideways, Sherlock petting him for a moment before going back to work. Alice glanced over at him, smiling to herself. The detective that everyone had warned her about was actually fairly nice. Not generous and warm-hearted like John was, but nice in his own way. She flipped the page of her book, glancing over at him again. _Yes, he's a nice person. And an interesting one. When you ran with Sherlock Holmes, you never quite knew what was happening next_. She looked back at him once more, noticing the way his curls framed his face, the sharp eyes concentrated on what he was typing, the cupid's bow of his lips. _Shit. No. Not now. Not him. Especially not him._

Sherlock finally looked up at her, catching on to what she had been doing. "Is there something on my face?"

"What? No."

"You don't need to be so defensive. You just kept glancing at me. I assumed it was because I had something streaked across my face. I have been working all day."

"It's nothing."

"Hmm." He went back to his typing without another word, but Alice could tell that he saw right through her flustered lies. It wouldn't have taken a Sherlock Holmes to know that she hadn't been telling the entire truth. However, he was courteous enough not to call her out on it, and instead continued typing. He stopped abruptly ten minutes later, reading over what he had written. Chester hopped up and went padding away towards where he heard Mrs. Hudson getting ready for bed, hoping for a treat, since she was so liberal with them.

Satisfied with his blog post, Sherlock sent it to post, closed his laptop, and set it on the coffee table across from the sofa. "If you're not too busy, I need someone to come with me to a charity gala. There's going to be a particular guest there that needs to be followed, perhaps pickpocketed."

Alice set down her book, asking, "Will we be in disguise?"

Sherlock nodded. "Possibly."

"Will it be dangerous?"

"Definitely."

The corner of her mouth turned up into a small smirk. "Then I'm in."

* * *

A.N.: I have a bit of time this weekend, so I'm going to try to get a lot of writing done. Thank you guys, gals, and other-identified pals for all of your support so far! Just you wait, I've got some great plot twists in mind.


	4. Chapter 4

"Charity gala for Saint Bart's Hospital," Sherlock narrated, looking in the mirror as he tied his tie. Alice turned around to look at her reflection, making sure everything was just right. "It's the single-biggest night of the year for the hospital, and the last night of a medical conference that's brought together doctors from all over the world. They make hundreds of thousands of pounds in just a few hours."

"And you think someone's going to steal all of it?" She spun around again, pushing her glasses up. "Thank you for finding a matching tie."

"Not a problem. And no, I expect someone to be smuggling information. There's a doctor here in London that's suspected of doing cloning research. Dr. Peres works at the Baskerville Research Facility in Dartmoor, and I think he's trying to smuggle information out of the country in order to carry out experiments elsewhere. We're going to be watching him in case he passes a memory stick to another target, a Dr. Chase from America." He paused, watching Alice. "You look wonderful. Now let's go."

"Alright, alright." She grabbed her purse, following Sherlock downstairs and into the cab that was to take them to a hotel that had won the rights to host the massive charity gala. They'd already reviewed photos of the people they would be looking for, but they went over them again, Sherlock texting her a few more. When they arrived, there was a bit of a wait as the cab moved through the line of cars dropping guests off, but they were soon out of the cab and mingling among dozens of equally well-dressed men and women who milled about in the entranceway.

As they moved towards the door, Sherlock took her arm, saying, "Come along, Ms. Reilly. Time to see and be seen." Alice smiled, but Sherlock didn't notice - he was already scanning the crowd. "There's Peres." He nodded towards a short, balding man near the champagne fountain. "I don't see Chase here yet, but we'll have the added danger of his wife. I caught her name on the guest list as we were checked in. Either one of them could end up with the memory stick."

"Then we just have to get Peres searched, and then search the Chases before he has time to come into contact with them," Alice whispered, waving at Mycroft and Lestrade, who were across the room talking to the hospital's director.

"Luckily, we have Lestrade, and regrettably, my brother, on the case to help us. Champagne?"

"I don't mind if I do," Alice smiled, gliding over to the fountain, where they both picked up glasses. She turned to face Dr. Peres, who was helping himself to yet another glass. "You look nervous, Doctor."

He nearly inhaled his drink in surprise, but managed to say, "Yes, ma'am. That does happen when one has to make a speech in front of the entire esteemed assembly here."

"Oh, you'll do wonderfully," Alice assured him, leaning in to whisper, "It's nothing. Fake all the confidence in the world. We're all already cheering for you, for your research, for all of the leaps and bounds you've made in the name of science."

"Thank you, madam," he nodded, taking a step back to adjust his coat. "I've never enjoyed public speaking."

"I've done quite a lot of work in psychology, and all of the studies say that you're likely much better than you think you are," she smiled, glancing over to where Sherlock stood, eavesdropping. "I really should be getting back to my date over there, but just remember, we're all cheering for you."

She rejoined Sherlock, who raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't have it, unless he's swallowed it. Likely he already passed it on to one of the Chases. He wouldn't want to hold on to it for long, unless he really had to."

"Let's go speak to Mystrade over there, and then see if we can locate the Chases. Either one of them has it, or it's in a dead drop. I would say it's more likely that they have it, since a drop would be unwise and difficult to conceal in a gala like this," Sherlock suggested, taking her arm again. Alice agreed, following him to where Mycroft and Lestrade were standing by a massive bay window.

"Ah, how are you two doing? You look gorgeous." Lestrade gave her a hug, shaking Sherlock's hand. Mycroft simply nodded, looking between them. He lowered his voice, telling them conspiratorially, "Peres is clean."

Alice agreed. "He didn't have anything on him a few minutes ago. Sherlock says it's more likely on one of the Chases."

Mycroft thought the same. "One of them already has it. If we get them separated, we can search them at the same time. Logistically, it would be better to lull them into a sense of security first."

"We're assigned to their table," Sherlock informed them all. "We'll make sure they drink a lot, and search them when they're inebriated."

"Or, we drug them," Alice offered. "As a last resort, of course."

"With what?" Lestrade asked.

Alice pulled a small vial out of her bag. "Ketamine."

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"Don't ask questions you aren't prepared to have answered."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please begin to find your seats." Someone up at the podium began to officiate the evening, stating that, "Dinner will be served in a few moments, and then our keynote presentations will begin."

Mycroft and Lestrade went off to their table, Sherlock taking Alice's arm again and guiding her over to their seats. The Chases were on Alice's right, and she introduced herself immediately. Dr. Chase himself had a noticeable accent, but his wife sounded like she had come from Britain, at least originally. "I've heard all about your work," Alice gushed, shaking their hands. "You're both on the same research team, aren't you?"

"We are," Dr. Chase nodded proudly. "Our entire team's been working like mad this past year, and we couldn't be more proud." He leaned back to shake Sherlock's hand enthusiastically, nearly elbowing a waiter as their plates were brought over.

Sherlock and Alice spent more time watching the Chases than listening to the speakers, but it was for good reason. When Mrs. Chase got up to go to the restroom, Alice followed, saying, "That's probably a good idea, before they bring coffee and dessert. We'll be right back, gentlemen. Behave yourselves."

Mrs. Chase turned to her as they moved passed tables of doctors, donors, and other specialists, asking, "That companion of yours… do you only work together? I mean, is it strictly work?"

"It's strictly work," Alice blushed as she held the restroom door open. "Sherlock… he's something else, I'll tell you that. I don't think he's fallen in love that often."

"Would you mind holding my bag?" Mrs. Chase handed her purse over, walking into a stall and continuing to speak. "Rob and I met through work. He was actually seeing someone else at the time, but their relationship had died long before. We've been married for five years now."

"Oh really?" Alice asked, quietly rooting through the woman's purse. "I'll sound like my mother when I ask this, but have you two decided about having kids?" She found the memory stick, which looked just as it had been described, and quickly shoved it into her own dress as Mrs. Chase came out to wash her hands.

She was smiling, telling Alice that, "We've got a son. Steven's three this month. He's staying with my parents while we're away." Alice handed her purse back over. "Thank you. I hate setting things down on the floor in restrooms. Too many germs."

"It's not a problem. I understand completely. Let's go see what trouble those gentlemen have gotten themselves into while we were away," she laughed. As she sat down, she signalled to Sherlock, letting him know that she had the files.

As their desserts and coffee were brought over and another speaker took the stage, Alice slipped him the memory stick under the table. Sherlock grabbed her hand and flashed a quick smile, Alice biting her lip in an attempt to not smile in return. Just as she handed over the memory stick, the doors to the ballroom opened, a group of masked men rushing in. Alice and Sherlock exchanged a glance, but they both knew what was about to happen.

"Where are the files?!" one of the men yelled, the woman onstage clenching her podium in fright. Mycroft and Lestrade looked to Alice and Sherlock, nodding. There were five of them, waving weapons around and scaring the crowd. Men and women were shedding their watches, their earrings, opening their wallets and begging the men not to shoot anyone.

As Sherlock texted the Yard, letting them know what was going on, Alice stood up. The cries and yelps of the crowd quieted down as all eyes turned to her. "I know what you want."

"Give us the files, and no one gets hurt!" The burly man who seemed to be in charge came over to where she stood, pushing her with the butt of his gun. "Well come on, now! Give them here, and you can all go back to your little party."

Alice kept her voice steady, telling them that, "I know what you're looking for, and why you want them. But the doctor who was supposed to bring them was intercepted by Scotland Yard. He never made it here."

"Give us the files, pretty. We won't hurt you."

She shook her head. "I told you, we don't have them. They're in the hands of Scotland Yard now, where they should be."

"Liar!" The man grabbed for her arm, but Sherlock was too fast, tackling him and throwing his weapon to Lestrade while Alice dove out of the way, tripping a second man. They were lucky that the other three weren't great shots. Mycroft had knocked one out with his umbrella, Lestrade shooting one of the others in the arm. The last man seemed to have fallen on the floor with no discernable cause, but when everyone turned to look, a frightened-looking elderly woman was standing there, her cane in her hands. She'd tripped him and knocked the man out when he came past her table.

Scotland Yard's tactical team arrived too late, but they were able to handcuff all of the men who had been knocked out and take the man with a bullet in his arm into custody. They also grabbed both of the Chases, and Dr. Peres, who had been trying to escape through a window in the restroom, but hadn't been able to open it all of the way and had gotten stuck. The rest of the gala was ended quickly, people going home in a frightened mob.

Sherlock and Alice stayed behind to talk to Lestrade, who told them that the five men who had burst into the room were indeed looking for the plans, and that they had been the men sent to collect the files from the Chases. The Chases themselves had been late in bringing the files back to America, and the investors had gotten annoyed with not having the files they'd payed so much for. So they sent a guerilla team to trap them all. "That reminds me." Alice handed over the memory stick from a fold in her dress, telling them that, "I wasn't lying. Scotland Yard did have the files all along."

Mycroft smiled, shaking her hand. "You may be of good use to us yet, Ms. Reilly."

"Go on home," Lestrade told her and Sherlock, seeing that it was getting quite late. "You two deserve some rest. We can deal with the press tomorrow."

Sherlock barely said a word until they had gotten back to Baker Street. It was only when he stopped her on the stairs that Alice knew that he had a lot more to say than he could have back in their cab. He grabbed her arm as they were walking, Alice stopping and raising an eyebrow. "Thank you," Sherlock said, "for all of that. You've saved something that was a matter of national security. Wonderful job at holding up under pressure."

"Thanks," Alice smiled, watching him in the half-light of the darkened stairway. She could read what he was going to say next, but said nothing.

Sherlock took a breath, telling her that, "That was very brave, ah, what you did. Alice?"

"Hmm?"

"You're, ah, an incredibly smart, very beautiful, ah…"

"Sherlock," Alice smiled softly, taking his hand. "Are you trying to ask me something?"

"What I'm saying is… do you want to, er, get dinner sometime? Sometime when there aren't, you know, gunmen in the room, or files that lives depend on?"

"That would be nice."

His eyebrows knit together as Sherlock asked, "Really? I mean, dinner? WIth me? Not on a case?"

Alice nodded slowly. "Dinner. With you. Not on a case." She kissed his cheek, telling him, "Goodnight, Sherlock" before heading into her flat.

The door had already closed, but she heard him speak, and smiled to herself. "Goodnight, Alice."

* * *

A.N.: Thank you for your reviews and all of the support! I'm going to try to do a lot of writing this weekend! But for now, I have to go two floors down to take a shower, because the showers on my floor are being repaired. University life is odd.


	5. Chapter 5

Alice had no idea how long Sherlock was standing there after she closed the door. As she shed her high heels with a sigh of relief, he stood there in the shadows, staring at the door of 221C, incredulous. Dinner, with someone brilliant. He was amazed he'd been able to do that.

Dinner turned out to be on a case, but it was a start. They'd taken a table at Angelo's when Sherlock started talking about what he was working on, since he had no idea what else to talk about. Finally, Alice stopped him, saying, "Sherlock, you don't have to talk about work, you know."

"My life is my work. I cannot live without my work. Without it, what else is there to live for?" Alice shook her head with a sigh as he continued, "Work is what I have. I eat it, I breathe it, I sleep it."

"Well, when there's no case, what do you do? What did you do before there were cases?" Alice asked, thanking Angelo as he came to refill their wine glasses.

"I solved my first case at eight years old. No one would listen, of course, but I was right all the same," he contradicted, "even if Scotland Yard wouldn't listen. I've been doing this work all of my life. That's what I have, everything I've ever done. My work defines my life."

"That's definitely impressive, but surely you do other things. There's got to be things you like other than work. I mean, you play the violin all the time, you know a ton of things about art - "

"You."

Alice set down her fork, waiting for an answer. "What?"

"You," he sighed, explaining that, "I like you. You're one of the few people who have actually tolerated me, who have put up with everything. Mrs. Hudson bears it, Lestrade bears it… John las the last one who actually, for a moment, I thought actually understood. But you really do. You have the gift. You must understand a lot more than he does, a lot more than he ever did."

She smiled, taking his hand across the table. "Can I ask you something? You and John…"

Sherlock bit his lip, nodding. "He denies everything any time someone asks. But…" He sighed, continuing, "For a while, it seemed like he understood. But it annoyed him, I could tell. He would never outright complain, but I knew it pained him, dealing with me. I knew it was over, I knew it. But I didn't want to accept it. We'd been together for a long time. I spent so much time out of the flat, since he needs to get back on his feet and be there. But he brings all his girlfriends round, and… We've remained friends, but it's always difficult to look at what you've lost, isn't it?"

Alice squeezed his hand, assuring him that, "It gets easier. I'll always be around if you want company, especially if he's being extra annoying."

Sherlock smiled at her sympathy, leaving the topic with a, "Thank you." His phone had buzzed, and the moment was broken as he sprang up. "It's Lestrade. We have to go." He turned to yell into the kitchen. "Good night, Angelo. Scotland Yard calls!" Alice had stood, and she followed him out into a cab, where Sherlock explained, "Lestrade says that he has a lead in the case I'm working on."

"The case that got your face all bloodied up?"

"That was John, actually. I needed an excuse to get into the house and investigate. Ah, driver, left here. I need the quickest route possible." Sherlock elaned back in his seat. "There's no use worrying about the case now. One can't make deductions based on inferences, so I suggest you relax for now."

"Lestrade said that there might be a job for me involved with your case, but I've been busy with a whole host of missing-persons cases. It seems like enough people to fill an entire lecture hall, heck, an entire airplane, have vanished. Half of them are bogus, I'm sure, but I've gotten a whole flood of them lately," Alice confided as she stared out of the window. "But he says there's something he wants help with, somewhere I've got to infiltrate. I guess I'll find out soon enough."

Sherlock agreed, tipping the cabbie heavily as they got out of the cab. "There may be something you can do for this case. But Alice," he stopped in front of the Yard building, turning to her to emphasize, "I need you to remember something. No matter what happens on this case, or how things may seem, it's all part of the game."

"Okay." She wasn't sure what he was talking about, but he must have thought it was of the utmost importance. They entered the new Scotland Yard building together, Lestrade ushering them into his office. Mycroft was already there, looking grim, as usual.

No one dared to take a seat. Mycroft finally spoke when they were sure that no one was listening in from the hallway. "Ms. Reilly, it is time for you to become of use to us. I know that you are an excellent undercover agent, but this operation is of particular delicacy, involving a matter of national security. As my dear brother already knows, we are also dealing with American forces attempting to gain access to certain documents. These documents are in the possession of a woman just as dangerous as you and Sherlock yourselves. It is imperative that we get them back, no matter how we do so."

"I'm sorry, I don't see how I come into this," Alice piped up. "If there's a way I can be of service, just tell me."

"We need you to go undercover." Mycroft leaned on the table. "Gain this woman's trust. Then steal the camera phone that she has these documents on."

Irene Adler left the room that she had been working in, tying on her favorite dressing gown. Her assistant had called her and was waiting in the hallway. "What is it, Kate? Is our next client here?"

"Not yet, ma'am. But there's a lady here inquiring about the secretarial position. I have her waiting in the sitting room," Kate informed her.

"Very well, then. Let's go meet her, shall we?"

Alice sat on a sofa in the sitting room, which looked like it had recently been remodeled. Bored of waiting, she stood, pacing around the room and taking things in. There was a safe hidden behind the mirror - the hinges painted to look like part of the frame were a dead giveaway. Nothing gave away the fact that this house was a business frequented by the most famous celebrities, ambassadors, and members of the royal family. "Hello, there."

Alice spun around to see Irene Adler, the woman she'd seen in the files Mycroft had passed along, in the flesh. Far too much flesh, since she had just come downstairs from work. "My name is Alice Reilly. I've heard you're in need of a secretary."

"That I am. Kate, my personal assistant, is far too busy with scheduling and the like to keep up with paperwork and payments. It's a simple job, really, but it could get dangerous." Irene took a seat on the sofa next to her, looking the girl up and down. "You seem suited for it. I mean, look at you. All smiles and pleasantries. But I can tell you like a good fight."

"I can never seem to get away from those," Alice smiled, Irene nodding.

"And you know there's a degree of secrecy in what I do," Irene told her. "But I'm sure you're used to that."

"Used to it?"

"Kate tells me that your resume says that you've worked with MI5. I know quite a few of those boys and girls." She pulled her phone out of her dressing gown pocket, tapping in a code and turning it so Alice could see. "Alistair Crane, one of the top agents. He's a whips and chains kind of fellow. Now his sister, she's more into leather. Serious mummy and daddy issues with those two, aren't there?"

Alice nodded. She could just snatch the phone now, knock her out. It was already open, and the files must have only been a few taps away. But no, Mycroft needed intelligence. "Of course, madam."

"Kate will show you your desk. It's the one you passed on your way in, right in the front hall." Irene had stashed her phone back in her pocket as she explained, "You'll be checking people in as they enter, and making sure they pay up front. You'll also be in charge of picking up packages and signing for things. Oh, and ordering supplies online for me. But whenever someone comes in, you'll call into Kate's office and let her know, so she can let me know. She's handling bookings, but you'll be the one to check our guests in, show them to the sitting room, make them tea. Be the nice comforting voice they need before - ah, Kate, I believe this is our 3 o'clock coming to the door now."

Kate went to the window, confirming that, "Yes, that's the one. I'll show him inside while you get ready, ma'am."

Irene stood, turning to Alice to say, "You'll start tomorrow. Go organize your desk and get everything in order. Our first appointment is at 10 AM, I believe."

Alice went to the desk in the front hall, carefully moving everything off of it and beginning to reorganize the mess that had piled up. Kate brought a man inside, hanging his coat on a hook in the entranceway. "Ah, Mr. Rice, how good to see you." Irene stood at the top of the stairs, smiling as Kate and the man looked up.

That evening, Alice was sitting on the sofa eating noodles from a takeaway box and watching telly with John when Sherlock burst into the room. "Another one! One of those people stopped me on the street and wouldn't leave until I'd sat down and listened. 'Ah, Mr. Holmes, my mum died and I swear they did something with the body.' 'Mr. Holmes, these aren't my gran's ashes.' 'Mr. Holmes…' Agh." He dropped down into his chair dramatically.

Instead of addressing his complaints, Alice simply turned to the detective and held out her takeaway container. "Want some lo mein? We're celebrating."

He grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the table and started eating. "Celebrating? Celebrating what? Oh, it's not another one of those birthday things, is it?"

John frowned. "Your birthday's in January, mine's in March, and Alice's is in October. It's November, Sherlock."

"I'll repeat the question. Celebrating what?"

"I've managed to get the job. I start tomorrow," Alice told him, handing over the carton and taking another one. "I'll be on surveillance for now."

"Congratulations, then," Sherlock nodded as he finished off the carton of noodles. "And thanks, I'm starved. I've been out all day, and what with all of the foolish people I had to entertain, I haven't eaten. It wasn't even casework."

They sat up eating and talking and halfway watching telly for a few hours, John going off to bed because he had to be at work in the morning. Alice switched on the news when he left, Sherlock getting up to sit next to her. She leaned her head on his shoulder, saying, "This is going to be an interesting case, isn't it?"

He nodded. "Irene Adler is… a challenge, to say the least. Get all of the information you can on her, and when we finally move in, we can outwit The Woman."

"There's something different about her, isn't there?"

"Irene Adler is unique. She encompasses a whole lot of parts of the world that most people would rather not discuss. But in that respect, she has been able to operate unmonitored all of these years. Not so much any more."

Alice looked up at him, saying, "No, I mean there's something different about how you're treating this case."

"Like I said, she is unique," Sherlock explained. "She is brilliant, and she knows how to use the power that she has. She is unique amongst all of the enemies that I have faced. Yes, there are no words to describe Irene Adler." He paused, adding, "Then again, you are brilliant. And I'm sure you know how to use the power that's been given to you well." The corner of his mouth turned up as he said, "Irene Adler is no match for you, I'm sure."

"Thanks," Alice smiled, assuring him that, "We'll outwit her, no matter what she may think."

Sherlock kissed the top of her head, looking back towards the television. "Heaven help her or anyone else who crosses your path."


	6. Chapter 6

A.N.: Here's a chapter for you all to read before the hurricane (for my southern US people, anyway). I'm typing more chapters as I wait for the storm. Right now, the sky is purple. It was yellow/orange-ish a few minutes ago. Hurricanes are cool, but be safe & careful, y'all! And thanks for all of the reviews and support! It means a whole lot.

* * *

"Sherlock, it's Christmas Eve!" Alice called from the living room, where she was hanging decorations on the tree that John had carried upstairs. "You've got to clean off the table and start getting ready!"

"It's only five o'clock!" he called back from the kitchen, where he was experimenting and Mrs. Hudson was trying to cook. "People won't be here for hours!"

"I do need some more counter space here, young man," Mrs. Hudson clucked, setting a baking tray down on a chair, since there was no room between all of Sherlock's experiments.

He sighed, beginning to clean up what he was working on and move things into his room. Soon enough, he had put everything away and cleaned off the table, Mrs. Hudson smiling to herself. He drifted over to where John was putting books back on the shelves and Alice was standing on the corner of the sofa, trying to put a star on top of the tree. Sherlock wrapped an arm around her legs as she almost toppled over, falling onto him with a laugh. "Fine, you try. You're taller than I am."

She jumped down and pecked him on the cheek, Sherlock saying, "I'm going to go take a shower and get myself together, and then we can help Mrs. Hudson with whatever she's baking. I'll be useless at dinner, but I can't mess up Christmas cookies too badly, now can I?"

Alice smiled, Sherlock heading into his room. She finished up decorating and stashed the boxes of ornaments, looking over the room. Everything had been decorated, and there were just a few odds and ends to clean up before people would be arriving. "Alice, dear, could you run upstairs and grab more flour from my kitchen? It's in the jar next to the stove."

"Not a problem." Alice dashed upstairs, returning just as John was leaving to pick up his girlfriend from her flat. Alice and Mrs. Hudson worked away preparing dinner, one of them eventually turning the radio on. Christmas carols filled the flat, even Sherlock singing along when he returned.

Alice heard him before she saw him, since she was busy rolling out pie dough when he walked into the kitchen. She only noticed him when his face appeared inches from hers. "Sherlock!" she jumped back, Mrs. Hudson laughing. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Need any help?"

"There's a bowl of pie filling in the fridge. Can you take it out so it can defrost?" Alice went back to her work, Sherlock doing as he was told. "There's also a bowl of cookie dough in there, and a baking sheet on the table behind you."

Lestrade arrived soon after they had finished cooking, Sally Donovan in tow. "Hey, Alice. Evening, Freak."

Alice pursed her lips, Sherlock simply rolling his eyes. "Evening."

Lestrade hugged them both after handing Mrs. Hudson a salad bowl, telling everyone, "Mycroft sends his regards, but he's been called away on government business. He would have loved to have seen all of you, though, I'm sure."

John came back soon after, introducing his girlfriend to everyone. Molly came in with a bag full of presents, announcing that she had gifts for them all. Alice had just gone to grab a drink when she heard Sherlock say from across the room, "I see you've got a new boyfriend, then. Big step up from the king of crime, I assume."

"Sorry, what?'

"In fact, you're seeing him tonight," Sherlock observed, looking at her.

"Take the day off," John warned, Alice making her way back through the party but being stopped by Anderson's arrival. She said hello to him while keeping an ear trained on the conversation, praying that he wouldn't say anything too disastrous.

"Oh come on," Sherlock scoffed. "Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped with a bow. All the others are slapdash at best. Must be someone special then. Shade of red echoes the lipstick. Either a subconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to encourage. Either way, Miss Hooper has _looove_ on her mind. The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact that she's giving him a gift at all. That all suggests long-term hopes, however forlorn. And that she's seeing him tonight is evident from the make-up and what she's wearing. Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts."

Molly was trying not to cry as he picked up the red box on the top of her pile of presents, turning it over in his hands and raising an eyebrow. "You always say such horrible things…"

"Molly, here, have a drink," Lestrade offered, sweeping her away as Sherlock gave his attempt at an apology. Alice grabbed his arm, pulling him into the kitchen.

She turned on him immediately, setting her wine glass on the counter and hissing, "You don't have to deduce everything about everyone, you know. There are times when it's better to just keep your deductions in your head. Sherlock, you're absolutely brilliant, but you… you need to learn to not talk all of the time, okay? You've gotta be careful, or you'll offend people. You're used to being right, even if it offends people, but this is Molly we're talking about."

Looking at her sadly, Sherlock apologised again. "I said I was sorry."

"'Sorry' doesn't fix everything," Alice reminded him. She pulled Sherlock into a hug, kissing his cheek and telling him that, "I know you didn't mean to hurt her, but you've got to be more sensitive about what you say."

He held her closely, saying, "I'm sick of people and parties already. And now everyone here thinks I'm an ass."

Alice let go of him, suggesting, "Why don't you come sit with me over by the fire? We won't have to talk to anyone but each other. I'm sure the rest of the party will be fine if we're not mingling about and the like."

"Okay," Sherlock smiled a bit, giving her a kiss. He took his normal seat by the fireplace as Alice refilled her wineglass. She joined him soon afterwards, sitting on the arm of his chair and chatting away.

The rest of the party kept on mingling, talking and laughing as they ate. But Alice and Sherlock sat there talking in their own little world, not paying attention to the jokes and stories that the others were telling. It was only when Sherlock's phone buzzed that he got up for a moment, leaving Alice to talk to the others. When he returned, he pulled her aside to say, "She sent me her mobile phone."

"Who?"

"Your boss. Irene Adler."

Alice's eyes widened. "That camera phone is her life. Something's happened to her." She looked up at him, adding, "There was no clue, no indication that anything would happen. She hasn't been planning… those Americans. What if they did something to her, and she knew it was about to happen, so she left us her phone?"

Mycroft rang that night after the party had died down and everyone else had gone home. John had gone to walk Sarah, his current girlfriend, back to her flat, and Mrs. Hudson was making a pile of the dishes that she had brought from her flat. Alice only heard Sherlock's end of the conversation, but she knew that something was up. "Yes. Of course. Immediately? I'll grab a cab." She had perched on the kitchen counter, but jumped down to the ground as he hung up. "I have to go down to Bart's."

"Now? It's nearly midnight. And it's Christmas Eve."

Sherlock looked at her grimly. Alice stood in her pajamas, bathed in the half-light of the fire and the Christmas lights covering the tree, looking tired but incredibly curious. Her ginger hair curled down around her shoulders, and her glasses reflected the twinkling lights on the tree as she stood there, waiting for an answer. "I have to identify a body."

Sherlock got back to his flat around 2 AM, hanging his coat up in the dying firelight. Someone had left the lights on the Christmas tree plugged in. Probably Mrs. Hudson, since she'd left with an armful of pans and baking sheets. He was just about to walk into his room when he noticed someone lying on the sofa. Alice had fallen asleep there, wrapped in one of the blankets she'd grabbed from the linens closet. On the table was a note, hastily written on the back of a piece of used wrapping paper.

 _Merry Christmas, Sherlock. X - Alice_

He smiled, kissing her forehead, grabbing another blanket, and curling up in the chair across from her, so he could be there when she woke up on Christmas morning. "Merry Christmas, Alice. Merry Christmas."


	7. Chapter 7

Alice woke up on Christmas morning to find Sherlock asleep in the chair across from her, wound up in a blanket. She smiled to herself and set some water to boil while she went downstairs to brush her teeth. He was still asleep when she returned, but soon yawned, stretched, and stood up. "Merry Christmas, Alice."

She set down her mug of hot chocolate and went over to hug him, wearily replying, "Merry Christmas, Sherlock." He held her tightly, neither of them wanting to let go of each other. Alice had already known why he'd been called down to the morgue. She knew who they had found, and she knew what it meant, both for them and for the case. Sherlock had lost the last source of evidence he had, the last person who knew the passcode to Irene Adler's phone.

He kissed her gently before telling her what she already knew. "She's dead."

"I know. I mean, I figured," Alice sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder as they watched snow float down onto the street outside, "I'm sorry." After a few seconds, she had an idea. "Maybe Kate will know the password we need. I have to go in to work soon anyway, and pretend I don't know she's dead. I'll do some rooting around and find out if it's written down anywhere, or if Kate knows it. There's still a chance that we can solve the case."

Sherlock shook his head, thinking of the Irene Adler that he once knew. "She wouldn't be - wouldn't have been - so careless."

Alice sighed, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry." He didn't smell like smoke. And he didn't seem like he was high. No change in pulse, no change in the size of his pupils. All was good, or at least she hoped. He seemed to be responding normally. It was a good sign, one Mycroft told her to look out for, just in case. He'd told her all about Sherlock's various addictions, and how he had overcome them. How he always made a list, just in case something went wrong. And of course, how Alice wasn't supposed to let Sherlock now that she knew of any of this.

They spent their Christmas together solemnly, leaving all of the presents under the tree until John got home. He wasn't surprised to see Alice there, making tea and reheating leftovers from the party in her pajamas, even though no one was hungry. He had gone out after searching the flat, just in case Sherlock had hidden drugs somewhere. Alice and Mrs. Hudson had helped, but they found nothing. Alice smiled at him sadly, offering a plate. "Leftovers? I've got turkey and I've got ham. Take your pick."

"Thanks." John accepted it, even though he wasn't too hungry either. He went to sit in the living room with Sherlock, who was occupied by staring out the window. They said a few words to each other, Alice joining them soon after. She took a seat next to Sherlock on the sofa, leaning her head on his shoulder silently. They had lost their best chance at getting at the files, and everyone knew it. National security was on the line.

They decided to wait to presents until Mrs. Hudson came down to visit, but everyone was too tired, stressed, and mournful to do much other than thank each other and smile dolefully. Dinner was also a quiet affair, and they all sat around watching telly afterwards. There wasn't much to say, and Alice knew that no one was really paying attention to what they were watching. But they were all together, and that's what mattered. At least they weren't all locked away. At least Sherlock was with her, and not out getting high, like Mycroft had been worried about.

Boxing Day dawned early, Alice's alarm going off and forcing her to get up off of the couch. She had fallen asleep there again, Sherlock sleeping in the armchair across from her. Initially, she'd volunteered to stay and make sure he didn't decide to go off and get high after this twist in the case, but she'd discovered that it was much warmer up in 221B than in her basement flat. And Sherlock was there.

She yawned, Chester still asleep on the floor between her and Sherlock. Sherlock had taken well to the dog, allowing it to follow him around the flat. He'd take Chester on walks when he needed to think, and remembered to feed him on time, even if he was busy working on a case. He would take care of the dog while she was gone at work. Kate needed her there early today, even if it was only to tell her that Irene had been killed.

Sure enough, Kate was wearing black when she opened the door to the white house in Belgravia. She ushered Alice in quickly, turning to her as soon as the door was closed and saying, "Irene… they found her dead yesterday."

"Oh my…" Alice put a hand to her mouth, taking a step back and leaning on her desk. "What… what happened?"

"I think it was those Americans who tried to rob us," Kate confessed, grabbing a tissue from the desk and wiping her eyes. She looked like she'd been crying for a while, and awake for even longer. "Scotland Yard is still investigating, but for now… we have to pack everything up, call all of her clients…"

"What do you need me to do?" Alice asked, offering her another tissue. "I'll make the phone calls if you want. I can handle them."

Kate nodded, accepting it gratefully. "I'm going to start cleaning up the rooms upstairs. Once you're done, you can go on home. We'll take care of her personal stuff tomorrow. I don't think either of us could handle that today."

"Okay. Let me know if you need any help." She gave her a hug, promising to be there if Kate needed someone to talk to. Alice watched as she went upstairs, and then opened her computer to access the client information database. Several explanatory phone calls later, she had referred people to other dominatrices, consoled crying clients, and dealt with disgruntled and sorely disappointed customers who were scheduled to be in later that day. It was only when she reached a client named "John Doe" in the system that things started getting interesting. What could be too secret to be spelled out in Irene's system, one that required three passwords and an ID code to access? Irene had named members of the royal family, celebrities, pretty much everyone. And yet this name was a secret. Alice dutifully dialed the number, waiting as the phone rang.

The voice on the other end of the call flooded with realization. "Hi, there, beautiful. I've been waiting to hear from you." The Dublin dialect was unmistakable. It was a voice that would give thousands of people nightmares if they heard it calling out for them, Alice among them.

She gulped, saying what she had reflexively told the other callers. "Irene Adler is dead."

"Oh, hello, darling! It's good to hear your sweet voice again. I'm sure you've missed me. I'm _dying_ to see you and hear all about your little pet, Mr. Holmes."

Alice gulped, her voice suddenly faltering. "When?"

"Tonight, at the pool. You do remember where it is, don't you?"

"Of course. But I'm not hurting him, Jim."

"No, no, you'll just make sure that I continue to have access to him. Keep up the good work, or… well, you know." She heard the phone click, the call ending abruptly. Slowly, Alice set her phone down and leaned back in her chair, taking a deep breath. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

Creeping back into the flat late that night, Alice did her best to be quiet. However, Sherlock was already awake, sitting by the fire and typing something up. He looked over at the door as soon as she opened it, and set his laptop aside as soon as she'd hung up her coat. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to make his next observation. "You've been crying."

"No I haven't," she insisted.

"Don't lie to me," he told her, pulling Alice into a hug. "You know who I am. It doesn't work. Now what's wrong?"

She sighed, and attempted to explain without giving too much away. All she could manage to say was, "Moriarty." But Sherlock understood. Well, he thought he understood. Moriarty had been appearing in different places, sending subtle clues that he would not be leaving them alone any time soon. It started out with pamphlets in the mail, but progressed to emailed videos and communications that left them frightened. He assumed it had been something like that, an assault on Scotland Yard's infrastructure or a video in her email disguised as something else. If only he knew.

Sherlock guided her over to the sofa, where Chester was sleeping on one of the cushions. They took the other one, sitting there in silence until Alice explained, "He's coming for you, Sherlock. He says he'll stop at nothing to get you."

Sherlock shook his head, telling her that, "It won't happen. We'll be fine. Besides, how can he get me when I have you? I'm sure you would eviscerate anyone who tried." That made her smile. Alice leaned her head on his shoulder, Sherlock running his hand through her hair until she fell asleep.

* * *

A.N.: Thank you all so much for your support! I hope you like the plot twists and how I'm weaving everything together while I anxiously wait for season 4. Or news about season 4. Or literally anything Sherlock related. But for now, I'm writing in a friend's dorm room while we eat Sour Patch and delay doing homework.


	8. Chapter 8

"It's New Year's Eve, Sherlock. You should take her out somewhere," John recommended from his chair. He had been reading the newspaper while Sherlock continued to lay around lazily, like he had been doing for hours. "You'll feel better if you're not cooped up in the flat all night, and I'm sure Alice will appreciate it. Girlfriends usually do."

Sherlock sighed, rolling over on the couch. Alice had gone out shopping, since they were out of groceries and Sherlock had refused to go earlier in the week. He'd been writing music and laying around the flat for days, even though she'd tried to motivate him to get up. He'd finally taken Chaster for a walk, which made Alice happier, but it had had no effect on his spirits, since the only chance they had at cracking the case was gone. Mycroft hadn't been angry - after all, there was nothing that they could have done to prevent this, but the documents he needed were still trapped on Irene Adler's phone.

Mycroft and Lestrade had been by to visit, having dinner with them one day during the week. It had been almost like a normal, civil family meal, until Sherlock had showed up late and still in his pajamas, which, although it made Alice smile a bit, Mycroft did not approve of. He'd said something that Sherlock had taken offense to, and the rest of the night had been full of passive-aggressive comments and sniping from both of them. By dessert time, they were all on edge. As Alice and Mrs. Hudson were bringing dishes into the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson had wondered aloud what meals in the Holmes household had been like, saying, "It seems like they were at each other's throats for years. I don't care how famous or how powerful they may be, those boys really do need to learn some manners."

John set down the paper, waiting for an answer from the moping detective. "Sherlock?"

"Okay, fine. But she's not my girlfriend. She… Alice is something better than that." He sprung up, suddenly motivated. John texted Alice as Sherlock went to take a shower, letting her know that he was concocting some sort of plan.

Alice came back with the shopping soon afterwards, Sherlock telling her where and when to meet him. "But first, I have to follow John. He just got into a car that I can tell he doesn't recognize." He stepped away from the window, giving her a quick kiss before grabbing his coat and dashing out of the door.

Shaking her head, Alice started unpacking the groceries, knowing that Sherlock was feeling better if he was up and dashing about again, getting work done. Or at least following John. That was a good thing. Mrs. Hudson came downstairs and joined her, telling her all about the mah-jong group that she was in and the "absolutely terrible shade Bertha chose for her hair". It seemed like a normal day, which was why Alice began to get worried when Sherlock was running late for dinner.

She'd been at the restaurant for a little over half an hour when she first decided to call him. At first, she'd thought he was just a bit late, nothing unusual for him. Cabbies did that, especially on New Year's Eve, when everyone was out and about. Then she figured he had gotten tied up with a case, or with tracking John. He could get lost in his work, but usually a phone call would rouse him out of the flow of work that he was in. But half an hour after he was supposed to be there, with no messages and no other signs from him, Alice was starting to get worried. And now he wasn't answering his phone. She called three times, finally getting food to go from Angelo, who told her to "be careful out there. Especially if something's happened with Sherlock, be careful, dear."

On the way home, her thoughts suddenly turned to Moriarty, to his threats, and to what he could have done to Sherlock. And what stupid things Sherlock could have done to get information or attention from the world's most vicious consulting criminal. When the cab pulled onto Baker Street, she saw the flashing lights of an ambulance and police cars. "Stop here." She tipped the cabbie heavily, sprinting over to the flat. Sherlock was standing there calmly and talking to Lestrade. "Thank goodness you're alright." She hugged him tightly, interrupting their conversation. "I was so worried... I thought Moriarty... well... What the hell happened?"

"A group of Americans broke in and tried to get information from Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock summarized for her, kissing the top of Alice's head. "But she held out. She's a real soldier, that woman. When I got home, I had to deal with them. One of them just happened to fall out of the window. Not exactly sure how it happened. It was all a bit of a blur," he smiled.

"Several times, by the looks of it," Lestrade added, shaking his head. "He's got several broken ribs, a punctured lung, maybe a fractured skull. But the official story is that he fell out of the window somehow, and I'm not planning on asking anything further than that."

Alice stayed with Mrs. Hudson that night, making sure that she was alright. They had just made tea and settled in to watch one of her favorite soap operas when Mrs. Hudson turned to her and said, "You two are perfect for each other, you know. It's a wonder that you can deal with all of his dashing about and… well, all of what comes with his just being Sherlock. But I can tell that you love him, and that he loves you, even if he doesn't say it a lot. Hold on to that, dear. You two are very lucky."

"Thank you," Alice smiled, leaning back on the sofa. "He certainly is something. But he's Sherlock all the same. I don't always understand it myself, but then again, no one can ever really understand Sherlock Holmes, except maybe Sherlock himself. And even then, I'm not that certain."

"Well, whatever he is, hold onto him, my dear. People like you two only meet once in a lifetime, and that's if you're both incredibly lucky."

Late that night, Alice woke up to the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock must have been up to something, but she didn't bother to get up and check on him. He was up all night half of the time anyway. Naturally, he was restless, but on a case, he because even worse. Maybe he had some sort of a lead to chase down. Alice couldn't fall back asleep, however. She had the nagging feeling that something was going on. So she looked in on Mrs. Hudson, who was sleeping peacefully, and then decided to go downstairs and see what Sherlock was up to. So she wrapped herself in her dressing gown to keep out the freezing air, and took to the stairs.

Sherlock was already gone, but he had left in a hurry. She glanced into his room, raising an eyebrow at the open window. She could tell that someone else had been there. _Irene Adler's perfume_. No, it was impossible. She was dead. Sherlock had identified the body himself. _Unless there had been a stand-in body. Unless she had somehow survived. Irene Adler could do it._

Alice shook her head, knowing that there was no way she could possibly find out until Sherlock got home. So she laid down in Sherlock's bed, falling asleep almost instantly. When the door creaked open early in the morning, she turned to look into the light that streamed into the room, seeing Sherlock finally coming home. Through her half-closed eyelids, Alice saw him smile slightly at the sight of her. He hung up his coat, dropping down into bed next to her. "Hmm. Sherlock? What's going on?"

Sherlock put an arm around her, saying, "It's all been dealt with. The disappearances you've been assigned at work, Irene Adler, all of it. Don't worry."

"Hmm? Oh, okay." Alice gave him a sleepy kiss, advising, "Then take a break. Get some rest, Sherlock. You deserve it. I know you haven't slept properly in a while. " She laid her head on his shoulder, falling back to sleep. She woke up before Sherlock did, which was lucky, since she had a message on her phone from a mysterious number. It was only when she listened to the voicemail that Alice remembered that she had called this number before. The voice sent chills up her spine.

"Hello, Alice, darling. Keep Sherlock nice and safe for me, will you? His time is coming. I owe him a fall, and it's going to be a grand one. All of London is going to see it. No, the entire world. The entire world will know who Sherlock Holmes really was, and what unfortunate circumstances befell him."

* * *

A.N.: Agh, I can't wait to start writing more of Moriarty's character! I think we're going to be seeing a lot more of him in the next few chapters, but next up is the boys' adventure in Baskerville. Thank you all for your support! All comments, questions, and DMs are hella appreciated *insert heart emoji, because the editing thingy isn't letting me make a carrot-3 heart*


	9. Chapter 9

Chester woke Alice up one spring day, barking at someone going by on the street on a scooter. She smiled as she yawned and got out of bed, looking forward to grabbing a cup of coffee with Sherlock before she had to head off to work. But her hopes would soon be dashed, since she found a note placed on top of her glasses. Sherlock had already gone, and wouldn't be back for a bit.

 _John and I are going to Dartmoor on a case. We may be gone for a couple of days. Don't worry, I'll call when I can. We're working on the case that Henry Knight brought in. I'm sure you remember it. Something to do with a hound. Keep that word in mind, 'hound'. It seems peculiar that he would use it. Either way, there should be a decent mystery here. I'll be home soon enough, but for now, enjoy the peace and quiet. Goodness knows you deserve it. X - Sherlock_

So he would be off in Dartmoor for the next few days. Alice took Chester out for a walk, returning to the flat to get ready for work. There had been a lot of lower-level crimes coming across her desk lately, but there would be a bit of a break today. Lestrade had texted overnight saying that they had captured someone important and they needed her assistance. He didn't offer many details, but whoever it was must have done something infamous, since he was locked away in Pentonville. She would be meeting Lestrade out there soon enough.

The prison was a large white building north of London, surrounded by razor-wire fences and staffed with guards who looked like they could kill with a glance, and they were certainly prepared to do so. Alice made her way through security, checking her weapon in the office before meeting with Lestrade and the warden, who walked with them down to the high-security level. Mycroft was waiting outside of a cell, glancing into the room through a tiny window. He turned to block it when Alice and Lestrade arrived, however. "Good morning, Ms. Reilly."

"Morning," Alice offered, wondering who was behind the door as she shook his hand.

"We've brought you here because of your connection to this case," Mycroft explained, looking stern. "We've captured someone who may be of interest to you, but we need your expertise in this case. And given your, er, history and prior experience with this matter, we thought you may know how to get information from him."

Alice took a breath before asking, "Who is he?"

Mycroft simply stepped aside to let her look in the window. She peered into the semi-darkness, seeing the distinctive silhouette of a man. He was facing the other way, but she could tell who it was, just from the dark hair and the way he carried himself. She took a step back, looking between Mycroft and Lestrade. "He isn't talking," Lestrade told her, "but we have him."

"Do whatever you want. Break him." She tried to keep her own voice from breaking, the bitterness and contempt she held for him leaking through. They'd finally captured the man who had been taunting Sherlock for months, who threatened them with the strength they knew could be carried out if he felt like it. "Make sure he pays for everything he's done."

Mycroft was about to reply when his phone rang. He stepped aside, Alice listening in to his conversation. "Ministry of Defense base at Baskerville? No, I - ah, I see. No, they are not a threat. Yes. Let them be. Let them be. Do you understand me? Alright. Good. I will deal with them later." He hung up with a sigh, turning back to Alice and Lestrade. "How do you recommend dealing with him?"

"He's going to try and trick you," Alice warned. "But don't let him. Don't give him what he wants. Lie to him, manipulate him, do whatever you have to to get information, but do not give in to what he wants."

That night, Alice was sitting in 221B with Chester, working on a report for a case that Lestrade had assigned her long ago, when her phone rang. Thinking it was Sherlock, she picked it up without looking at the number. "Hello, darling."

Alice froze. "Sebastian? How… how are you?"

"Our mutual friend wanted me to pass along a message. He's out of the game for now, but he sends his regards. He also says to be a good little girl and keep Sherlock nice and healthy. He will need it." The man on the other end of the call hung up, leaving Alice slightly paranoid. She dialed Sherlock, afraid that something had happened to him when he didn't pick up on the first few rings. Finally, he answered, sounding like he had just experienced the fright of his life.

"Are you alright?" was his first question, which made Alice smile a bit.

"I'm fine. Are you okay?" Sherlock sighed, Alice waiting for an answer. "You're pacing, Sherlock. What's wrong?'

"I saw it," he admitted through gritted teeth. "It's real."

"Saw what? The hound?"

"The hound," Sherlock confirmed. "I didn't believe it either. But once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." She heard him drop down onto his bed or into a chair. "Alice, I'm afraid. I logically am not, but… my hands are shaking. I've always been able to keep myself distant… it's interesting, isn't it? Feelings. Being afraid. Alice, I -"

"Sherlock, you sound like you're hyperventilating," she observed, sitting back on the sofa.

"It is a giant hound. I can't admit it, but there is a giant hound out in Dewer's Hollow."

"No," Alice contradicted. "There must be another explanation. I know that, and you know that. Sherlock, you're the most brilliant person I know. You can figure this out."

With a child-like nervousness, Sherlock asked her, "And what if it turns out to be real? That means everything I've trusted, all of science and reason… it all led to nothing but a giant hound."

"Sherlock, listen to me," she said gently. "There has to be a reason for this. If there's no physical explanation but a giant hound, then maybe you've been drugged. There has to be a logical explanation, since we both know there are no giant hounds in Dartmoor. It's just a laboratory out there. And nothing would have escaped. Any animal would have to get through the minefield, right? That's not an easy task for a giant dog."

"I've been fine for so long. And now I'm terrified. This shouldn't be happening."

"It's okay," Alice assured him. She stood to close the curtains in the flat as she kept talking. "Setting emotions aside for your work can get to you at times. It's okay, though, being afraid. It means you're alive. But I wish I could be out there with you."

"Me too."

"I promise I'll be here if you want to talk when you get back."

"Thanks. I should probably let you go, since you have to be at work in the morning," Sherlock sighed. "And I have work to do. If there really is a rational explanation… well, I have a theory to test. Goodnight, Alice."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

He paused before hanging up, adding, "I love you."

She smiled, wishing she could be there in Dartmoor. "I love you too."

Lestrade had gone out to Dartmoor the next morning, supposedly sent by Mycroft to spy on Sherlock. He had left instructions with Donovan to tell Alice that Mycroft was looking for her. So Alice went across London, meeting Mycroft in his office. He was waiting for her behind his oak-paneled desk, looking serious. She took a seat in silence.

"Jim Moriarty is demanding information about my brother. And he is requesting to meet with you."

"No." Alice's reaction was immediate. "You can't tell him anything about Sherlock. He already wants to hurt him. Please, you know what this will do. They're already in some sort of a smoldering conflict. You don't want an all-out war between the most brilliant detective and the most cunning criminal in London."

"I will think about it," Mycroft told her, "but you should meet with him. At least over a webcam. He is asking to talk to you, which is an easy demand to satisfy. We need information."

Alice sighed, finally assenting. Mycroft, in turn, opened a program on his computer and made a call into Pentonville prison. He turned the camera to face her, Alice biting her lip as Moriarty's face appeared. "Hello, there," he smiled. "How are you, dearie? I've missed you."

"What do you want, Jim?"

"Like I said, I've missed you. And now that you've got this pet detective, I really want to check up on you," Moriarty told her. "It's sooooo boring sitting in here. I can't talk to anyone, and I miss my favorite detective. Tell him I say hi, will you?'

"Of course," she said through pursed lips. "But why did you want to talk to me?"

"I just wanted you to know that I'm coming for you both. Now you, I won't hurt. No, no, no. I wouldn't hurt an old friend of mine. I'll rip your heart out, though. As for your precious Sherlock, well…" Moriarty mimed cutting his throat, "I'll deal with him in my own way. Just sit tight, dear, and watch. Watch him burn." The screen went black, the call ending.

Alice turned to Mycroft, begging him, "You have to make sure he can't do anything. Please. He's going to kill your brother if he gets the chance."

"I know," Mycroft nodded, turning the monitor back to its original position. "Jim Moriarty is dangerous, but not while he is locked away. Sherlock will be fine. Now, about this conversation. Sherlock is currently away in Dartmoor, so he won't notice that you've been here. And you will not tell him. You won't breathe a word to him about Jim Moriarty, about your conversation with him today. Let me handle this, and it will all work out. You may not like it, but I will handle this."

Alice assented, with the assurance that Mycroft would not let him get to Sherlock. For now, at least, Moriarty would be locked away in Pentonville. When he returned a few days later, Alice held up her end of the deal and didn't tell Sherlock anything about her conversations with Mycroft and Moriarty. Instead, she listened to him retelling the entire case as he unpacked and made a pile of laundry to do.

He described the hound, and how it had morphed into Moriarty's face as they were all drugged. He even told her how Dr. Frankland had stepped on a mine when they were trying to chase him down, about the brilliant flash that ended the case with a bang. Alice listened, asking questions at a few points, but really just taking him in. He was safe. Moriarty hadn't gotten to him yet. And he wouldn't.

That evening, they sat together on the sofa, watching the news. Alice finally turned to Sherlock and asked, "I know the hound got to you. But are you afraid of Jim Moriarty?"

"I'm not afraid of Moriarty," Sherlock told her, pulling Alice closer. "I'm afraid of what he might do to you, to John, to Mrs. Hudson. I'm afraid of what will happen if he gets to take all of the chances that he wants. And about how things will play out if he manages to get his way. Alice, promise me something. If he comes for us, promise me you'll hunt him down, even if I can't."

"Why wouldn't you be able to hunt him down?" she wondered, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Just in case."

"Okay. I want you to promise me something too. No matter what happens with Moriarty, remember that I love you."

"I love you too." He gave her a kiss and held Alice close to him, knowing that there was a possibility, however remote, that he would have to leave her, leave them all, in order to keep them safe.


	10. Chapter 10

"So how did you do it?"

"Any comment on the thief?"

"What are you investigating next?"

Sherlock and John stood together in front of a recovered painting if the Reichenbach Falls, which they had uncovered by tracking down the thief using nothing but a partial bootprint and a chewing gum wrapper. The reporters in the crowd were taking pictures and peppering them with questions, but all Sherlock could do was smile at Alice, who stood in the back of the room, watching them in silence. They finally waved off the reporters, telling them, "that's enough," before making their way over to her.

"Congratulations, my wonderful detective,"Alice smiled, giving him a kiss that would make the front page of several newspapers and tabloids the next morning. "I knew you'd be able to find it."

"Excuse me?" A reporter had tapped her on the shoulder, Alice turning to face the woman. "Kitty Riley, no relation, of course. Can I have a word?"

Alice nodded. "Just a few minutes, though."

She followed Kitty into a hallway off of the exhibition room, the reporter turning on her tape recorder. "I figured I'd like another perspective on Mr. Holmes. You two seem rather, er, close. Can I confirm it for my readers that you're together?"

"Yes," Alice smiled.

"So what's it like, dating one of the best and most mysterious detectives that London has ever known?"

"It's an adventure," Alice sighed. "We met when I moved into a flat near his, but we would've met at work either way. We're both involved with the homicide and violent crimes division at Scotland Yard. We're working together a lot, but we've also got our separate projects."

"Has all of this sudden success changed your relationship at all?"

"Well, it's made us both busier, but at the end of the day, we're both there for each other," Alice told her. "We'll still see each other, even if it's late at night when we get home, or if we meet up for lunch while we're both running separate cases."

Kitty turned to see Sherlock and John leaving the exhibition room, and asked, "It seems I only have time for one more question. So I have to know, for my avid readers…" She leaned in to whisper, "What's the sex like?"

Alice answered gracefully. "I've got to run, but I'll let your readers imagine that for themselves." She jogged to catch up with Sherlock and John, who were getting into a cab and going home.

They had just settled in back at Baker Street when Mycroft called, Alice picking up her phone first. "Nice interview on the news, brother mine," he said after Alice had put him on speakerphone. "It seems like a friend of ours saw it."

"What do you mean?" John asked, looking concernedly at the others.

"Have you seen the news? Your recovery of the Reichenbach painting was briefly mentioned, but there were much more serious things to be covered. There was a mass breakout at Pentonville, a data robbery at the Bank of England, and the Crown Jewels have been stolen."

"What the hell…"

"No, Ms. Reilly, who the hell. Jim Moriarty," Mycroft explained. "He was behind all of it. The guards found him sitting on a throne, wearing the Crown Jewels. He went into custody peacefully."

"Something has to be up, then," Alice concluded. "A man like Moriarty would never allow himself to be captured, unless he knew he could get something out of it."

"Sherlock, I will need you to testify at his trial. You too, Ms. Reilly." Alice blanched as Mycroft told them this, Sherlock taking her hand in solidarity. "He's scheduled to be on trial next week. Both of you already know how to testify, so you shouldn't have that much difficulty with the system."

"Alright. That's it, then?" Sherlock asked.

"For now. Goodnight, all."

Alice spent the next week working tirelessly at the Yard, throwing herself into new investigations and projects. When she got home, she would go jogging with Chester, trying to figure out what she would say on the stand. She could remain strictly professional, telling the jury only what she had learned about Moriarty from her time at Scotland Yard. Or she could tell them everything. But she'd be lucky if she was only discounted as a witness after that. At best, they'd retract her testimony. At worst, she could end up in jail for the rest of her natural life.

The night before they were set to testify, Alice was standing in the living room of 221B, ironing their business suits, when she froze, remembering that she would be facing Moriarty on the stand in less than 24 hours. "Something wrong?" SHerlock asked as he walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

Setting down the iron and turning it off, Alice turned to him and said, "There's something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago, when Moriarty first became important in your life and when we first started seeing each other." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, Alice taking a deep breath and explaining that, "You could probably tell that I'm not British. Not by birth, anyway. I was born in a little town in The Middle of Nowhere, Florida, and when it came time for me to go to university, I went to the best school I could. But for graduate school, I had no money, no real job, and my parents… well, they couldn't help. I'd made a friend doing an international studies program, and he knew people. He made me an offer…"

Sherlock moved to hug her when he noticed the tears in her eyes. "Moriarty?"

She nodded. "At first, it was just being a lookout for some of his larger groups. But then he needed help with other things. Accounting, market fraud, crimes that couldn't be traced. But when I decided I wanted to stay in England, he upped the price. He'd ensure that I got to stay here, that I got all of the proper documents from all of the right people, but for a price. I committed my first contract killing when I was 22."

"Why did you stop?"

"It's a lot harder working with Scotland Yard and being a criminal at the same time than if I had any other job. They hired me out of graduate school, so I decided to taper off my work with Moriarty," she explained, trying to maintain her composure. "He let me go back to financial crimes and document forging, since it was easier to keep up with my schedule at the Yard. But one night, he was incredibly short-staffed on snipers. I… I'd had the best record at the Yard for a while, so he called me in. I couldn't really say no. So I got a cab and headed to this pool he'd sent me to. I'd taken up my rifle, and I was sitting there, talking to all of the others like it was old times… and you walked in." She paused, holding onto Sherlock as she confessed, "That's when I knew. I knew that if anything happened, if he was going to hurt you, I'd shoot him instead. Even if one of the others took me out a second later, Moriarty would be dead. That's what I should've done."

"No." Sherlock wasn't lost for words, but he gave her the opportunity to continue. When Alice just sniffled, he kissed the top of her head before resting his chin on it and asking, "Would you still do it now?"

"What?"

"Kill Moriarty, even if it meant taking a bullet for it?"

"Without hesitation," she responded. "He's taken too much from me, taken up too much of my life, made me do unspeakable things. Of course I would."

"Hmm. Good. Excellent."

"You're not mad?"

"Mad?" He held her at arm's length, exclaiming, "I'm the furthest thing from mad! Here I find out you've had this secret past, one we can use against Moriarty! Alice Reilly, you're more of an asset than ever!" Sherlock simply beamed, kissing her again. "You're going to do wonderfully at this trial, and you're going to get him convicted for sure."

"Really? You're not even a little pissed off that I never told you any of this?"

"We all have our secrets," Sherlock shrugged. He guided her over to the sofa, saying, "I'll make tea and finish all of this ironing. You watch something on telly - not the news, it's just sad. I'll be back in a bit."

When Alice woke up in the morning, she momentarily forgot where she was. It was when she saw Sherlock next to her that she smiled, but her stomach sunk at the thought of going to trial. "Sherlock, get up." She shook his shoulder gently, the detective almost falling off of the sofa in surprise. "We've got to be ready."

John joined them, facing the onslaught of reporters who had camped out in front of their flat overnight. They made small talk in the cab, but Alice spent most of her time clenching Sherlock's hand, looking out of the window. "Remember what they told you. Don't mouth off at the judge, the bailiff, anyone. Keep it simple and brief," John instructed as they pulled up in front of the courthouse.

Sherlock leaned over to whisper to Alice, who was seated on his right. "Remember, you're going to do fine."

They all proceeded to a holding room, finally being called in as "Crown versus Moriarty, courtroom ten." The bailiff led them in, telling John where to sit up in the gallery as Alice and Sherlock made their way down to a bench on the prosecution's side. Alice took his hand again, watching as the judge was seated. She was called first, as the expert from Scotland Yard.

"Ms. Reilly," the prosecuting barrister strode in front of her, asking, "please give us the details of your work with Mr. Moriarty."

"James Moriarty first came to Scotland Yard's attention a couple of years ago, but only in whispers. But then he became connected with smuggling rings in London and around the world. He began sponsoring murders, and intercepting items of national security. The MI5 and 6 files have already been distributed to you, you can read about those there. But," she took a deep breath, looking over at Sherlock before telling the court that, "he has been connected with a lot more than that. Professional-style assassinations, white-collar crime, he's masterminded over a hundred different crimes against the crown itself. He does this of his own interest, and as a criminal for hire."

The barrister nodded, and then she asked, "On the day of the crimes in question - the breakout at Pentonville, the break-in at the Tower of London, and the break-in at the Bank of England - would you say that he was working as a consultant?"

Alice shook her head, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. "He'll help people for a price. But that day, everything was purely out of self-interest. He wanted to get caught. It's all part of the plan."

Cross-examination wasn't very difficult, Alice finally taking a seat with John in the gallery after a brief recess. They watched Sherlock testify, but Alice had to excuse herself to go deal with Lestrade and the booking process, since Sherlock had been held in contempt of court. She'd waited for John before heading home with him, both of them sorely mad that he'd had to show that he was, in his opinion, smarter than the court system.

"You shouldn't have tried to outsmart the barristers," Alice said that evening. "It's not too smart."

"But I am smarter than them," Sherlock frowned, making Alice smile.

She sighed, giving him a kiss before leaning her head on his shoulder as they watched the recap of the trial on the evening news. "I love you, my smartass."

The next morning, Alice and John sat in the gallery, waiting. They were dismissed as the jury filed out, but had to run back into the room when after six minutes of deliberation, they had already reached a verdict. "Not guilty?!" Alice fumed as John called to report back to Sherlock, who had stayed home after the debacle the previous day. "How the hell is he not guilty?"

"Do you want to talk to him?"

Alice took the phone from John, immediately ranting, "No defense, and he's not guilty. He must have done something to convince the jury… ugh, Sherlock, he'll be after you again. And if I have to kill him myself, I'll do it, I swear to-"

"Alice," Sherlock interrupted, his voice steady. "Listen to me. It will all work out in the end. Alice, I promise you, everything will work out in the end. You and I will get through it, okay?"

"Okay. I… fine." She stopped pacing on the sidewalk, taking a breath to calm down. "John and I are going to grab a bite to eat, maybe a drink after all of this… We'll be back in a bit, okay?"

When she and John got back to the flat, Alice's rage had somewhat subsided. She took off her suit jacket, draping it over her arm as she climbed the stairs. Stepping into 221B, she stopped suddenly. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" He set down his violin, looking over to where she and John had just walked in.

"He's been here, hasn't he?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Whatever are you talking about?"

* * *

A.N.: Writing the next few chapters is going to make me cry, bc we all know what has to happen after Moriarty walks free... Agh... Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this. Someone's blasting their radio in my dorm and it's the middle of the night. Goodness. I'm gonna go investigate. Love you all!


	11. Chapter 11

Passing through the Diogenes Club, Alice got plenty of strange looks. Sure, she was used to working with that, but the gentlemen's club still hadn't gotten used to her presence, even though Mycroft had summoned her there a few times now. There were furtive hand gestures and people pointing at her, wildly gesturing to each other, all of them asking, "Who let her in? Why is she here?" Mycroft, of course, met her near the door and walked with her to a private office, the only room where they were allowed to speak.

"Really, we couldn't have met up at your office?" Alice asked, taking a seat and a drink. "It seems to disturb all of the gentlemen that I'm here, even if it's only to see you."

"You'll have a lot more to worry about than a curious gaggle of ambassadors and statesmen when this hits the presses in the morning." He handed her a newspaper headlined 'Sherlock Holmes - an Expose', allowing her to glance over it for a moment.

"This is rubbish. 'Close friend'? I've never even heard of Richard Brook. What would he want with Sherlock?" She cast the paper aside, looking over to where Mycroft stood by the window. "I've heard of the woman who's writing this crap, though. She's bloody desperate for a story."

"That's not why I really called you here, Alice. As you may have observed, there are a couple of new faces on Baker Street. I'm sure you're already familiar with them, given your, er, history."

"What, the Albanian hit squad leader?" Alice asked, thinking back to the days that she would much rather have forgotten entirely. She had known a lot of them, worked with them, seen how they operated. Seen how ruthless they could be. But once, she had been one of them, no better than the assassins that now crawled all over the street. In fact, some of them had probably recognized her. "And what's her name, Dyachenko, the Russian killer? Stefan Tribek, and Gauss, the Bolivian sniper? We've got four, at my last count, at least, top assassins moving onto our street," she told him, though Mycroft already knew this, judging from the files that he had stacked on the desk.

Carefully considering his choice of words, Mycroft turned around, correcting her. "Five."

"What? I haven't forgotten anyone."

"Five. Although one of them has been there for far longer, has gotten rather close to my brother, and she's on our side."

Realizing what he meant, Alice sighed. "I'm not in the running, at least not any more. When I stopped working for him, they took my spot."

"You're still pretty handy with a whole host of weapons, I trust."

Alice read his face, asking, "You think this is Moriarty?"

Mycroft nodded. "We both know what this means."

"Moriarty is obsessed with him. And Sherlock is obsessed with Moriarty. It's mutually assured destruction, unless we can get Moriarty first," she reasoned. "We have to stop one of them, before both of them get destroyed by this."

He nodded again, absentmindedly flicking though the files piled on the desk. "Exactly. Now I've already had this conversation with John -"

"You want me to watch out for Sherlock, got it."

Mycroft nodded a third time. "You're quick on the uptake. Yes, I need you to look after my brother. Make sure he doesn't do anything rash. Make sure he isn't baiting Moriarty in any way. Try to make sure he isn't doing anything stupid."

Alice leaned forward in her chair to stress her point. "You must realize by now that I would do anything to keep Moriarty away from him. I'd take on all four of those assassins at once if I had to."

"I see the way you look at my brother, and I'm sure, if it came down to it, you would. And you would win. But we do not want to rush into something like that unless we absolutely must. For now, I just need you to be aware. And do not, whatever you do, let Sherlock know that you're watching these people," Mycroft instructed.

When Alice got back to Baker Street, Sherlock was waiting for her. Immediately, Alice knew that something was wrong. "You look like something's happened. Sherlock, I haven't seen you like this before. You've got handcuff markings on your wrists… Sherlock, what's going on?"

He took her hands, saying, "I need you to listen to me very carefully and remember everything I tell you."

"Okay. But what's going on?" she pressed. "Sherlock, if something's wrong, tell me. I'll help you, not matter what it is. I've -"

"Alice, I don't have much time. You need to listen to me." She nodded, allowing him to explain how the world was crashing down around him. "Moriarty is going to shatter my media image in the morning. He's invented a fake identity, saying I hired an actor to play a master criminal so I could boost my image. He's claiming I'm really the one behind all of this, that I've paid him off. I'm going to deal with it - I already have a plan. It'll be fine, but Moriarty's going to try to convince the country that I've faked everything I've ever done. He will play on people's fears. He will be incredibly convincing. But Alice, I need you to believe me."

"Of course I will." She looked into his eyes, seeing the scared, fragile man behind the facade of the cold, uncaring detective that he had methodically built up over the years. It was slowly shattering before her, Sherlock pressing her to believe him, no matter what anyone else said. It must have meant something to him to be liked, even if he always said he didn't care. "Sherlock, of course I believe you."

"No, I _need_ you to believe me. The rest of the world doesn't matter. As long as you and John know what really happened…"

Alice wrapped her arms around the detective who was desperately trying to rebuild the wall around him. Even though it was just her, he had to rebuild the front, make sure that no one knew he was falling apart. She saw through it - she always could. She could see things like only he could. So she saw right through it. "I will, Sherlock, I promise. I know you. I've seen what you do, and no one can fake that. No one could fake being you all of the time. No actor, however talented, could be someone as complex and as wonderful as you."

"Thank you." He kissed her, continuing, "Tomorrow… terrible things may happen tomorrow. I can't tell you exactly what, because you'd be able to unravel the whole plan. You're the only other person in the world who could. It's not real, though. It's all a trick, remember that. I'll be back here for you, no matter what happens. If everything goes right… well, we'll make the news. People will hound you for answers, but you don't have to talk to them. All you need to do is believe me."

"I already do," she promised, wondering what he was planning. "Do you have to leave now?"

He glanced over her head at the clock hanging in the kitchen. "Not yet."

"Come sit on the sofa with me. I can tell you're incredibly stressed out, and… I don't know, something tells me you've got a lot to do and a lot on your mind."

Sherlock obliged, wrapping his arms around her as soon as they sat down. "No matter what happens, remember, I love you."

"I love you too," Alice smiled, kissing her beloved detective. "Sherlock… he wants to kill you. Moriarty."

"I know."

Alice bit her lip, not wanting to voice what she had already deduced, mostly because she was terribly afraid that she was right. "You're meeting him later on, aren't you? You're going to talk to him, in some sort of final showdown. Sherlock, you can't. It's not going to end well." She knew there was no convincing him, but she tried anyway. "You can't expect him to honor anything that he says. You can't trust him. You've said it yourself, Moriarty is a spider, at the center of a massive criminal web. Even if he keeps his word, he can just as easily tell one of his thousands of contacts to kill you."

"I'll take care of it," Sherlock promised, not meeting her gaze.

"Don't do anything stupid," Alice begged, turning to look at him. "Don't get yourself killed. Please, Sherlock, for me. Be careful."

"For you," he nodded absentmindedly. "It'll all be for you."

They stayed together for hours, picking on leftovers and scarcely talking. Neither of them wanted to let go of the other. The feeling of dread wouldn't leave Alice's stomach, but she pushed it aside in order to keep Sherlock in good spirits. She could tell that his mind was churning with whatever plan he had concocted to foil Moriarty, but there was nothing she could do about it. Around midnight, Sherlock stood up, telling her he had to go. "Don't watch the morning news or read the papers," he reminded her. "It's all fake."

Alice nodded, following him to the door. She watched as he grabbed his coat and wound on his scarf. Sherlock took her hand and walked downstairs with her, stopping at the front door. He pulled her into a long hug, whispering in her ear, "Remember everything I told you. Whatever you see on the news, it's not real."

"You're crying." She raised a hand to his face, Sherlock brushing his cheek quickly. He had to keep himself together. If all went right, he would be home in a matter of hours. But with Moriarty, nothing ever went right. Lazarus might have to be launched. And that would mean years before it was safe to see any of them again. "Please, Sherlock, don't do anything rash." It was a last-ditch effort, but Alice had to try.

"I won't. Everything is planned out. Just... remember, okay?" She nodded as Sherlock added, "I love you."

"I love you too. So much."

Sherlock let her go, giving her one last kiss before opening the door and heading out into the darkness with a final, "I'll be back soon. I promise." She tried to watch him go from the upstairs window, but Sherlock had already faded into the darkness.

Alice woke from a restless sleep as the sun came up, looking around briefly before realizing that Sherlock had already left. Of course. He'd left in the middle of the night, to take care of whatever it was that he had to take care of. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, where they had been sitting together earlier. Glancing out of the window, she saw a few reporters waiting on the steps already, looking for a comment on the life-ruining stories that had been published earlier in the day. She shook her head, made a cup of tea, and took Chester for a walk, using the back exit. When she got back, Mrs. Hudson was awake. "Dear, have you seen the news?"

"I'm going to find Mycroft and see what he can do about it," Alice told her. "I might not be back for a couple of hours. Stay inside, and if you have to go anywhere, use the exit into the back alley. The vultures are already out looking for quotes that they can twist into more lies."

As Alice took a cab to the Diogenes Club, Lestrade was just getting to work at Scotland Yard, having stopped for coffee along the way. Mrs. Hudson was making more tea. Anderson and Sally Donovan were making their way into work. Molly was already busy in the morgue. John was also taking a cab to the Diogenes Club, where he would meet Alice at the front door by chance. And Sherlock was hidden away at Saint Bart's, preparing for his own death.


	12. Chapter 12

John and Alice ran into each other outside of the Diogenes Club, both asking, "Mycroft?" and nodding, verifying why they were there. They had both decided to find him and question him about his role in Moriarty's trial, release, and subsequent rise. They confronted him in the club, practically dragging him into a back room to talk. Alice was fuming, having figured it all out in the cab.

"Kitty Riley's really done her homework, hasn't she?" John asked, starting to pace in front of Mycroft, barely concealing his rage. "She's published some things only someone close to Sherlock would know." Mycroft sat down, looking at both of them. "Your own brother, and you went to blab to some maniac about him?"

Mycroft shook his head. "I never intended… I never dreamt…"

"So this is what you were telling me about?" John wondered, dropping a stack of newspapers onto a coffee table, all of them running front-page articles on Sherlock faking his entire career. "'Watch his back, because I've made a huge mistake'? How did you meet him? Moriarty?"

"People like him, we know about them. We track them. But Moriarty… the most dangerous criminal mastermind in the world… a few lines of keycode and he could unlock any door. Nuclear weapons, prisons, experiments people with security clearances still do not know about… he has access to them all," Mycroft shrugged. "There was nothing else we could do."

"And you arrested him to get the code?" John asked, continuing to pace.

"Interrogated him for weeks," Mycroft confirmed. "But he wouldn't play along. The only thing that made him open up, well, I could get him to talk, just a bit, but…"

"You had to offer him Sherlock's life story in return?" John wagered. "So they wrapped lies in the truth, and made the world believe it, since a lot of it is true. Moriarty wanted Sherlock destroyed, and you gave him the perfect weapon."

"John… I'm sorry."

"Please," John spat, shaking his head. "Sure you are."

"Tell him for me, would you?"

"Piss off." John stormed off, taking a cab to St. Bart's.

It was now Alice's turn to look at Mycroft. "I really am sorry," he explained, but it was too late. She was ready to rant, to rend him limb from limb if she had to.

Alice strode across the room, slapping him viciously and hissing, "You were supposed to protect him. Sure, John and I helped, but you… you're always supposed to look out for your little brother. You're supposed to protect him, to make sure something like this doesn't happen. And now I hear you're the one who fed them all of this? You've ruined his life, Mycroft! Everyone is going to hate him, if they don't already. I… I could wring your neck, but it wouldn't do any good. I would kill for him if I had to. I gave up that life long ago, but if it came to it… On your head be it. Whatever comes of this is your fault. And mark my words, I will hold you responsible."

She turned away, storming out and taking a cab to where she knew Moriarty would be waiting. It was a small building, the facade of a house, but Moriarty used it for meetings and holding spaces when he needed it. Sure enough, he was waiting for her. "Hello there. I've been dying to see you," Moriarty smiled as Alice bolted for him. "Ah, ah, ah," he warned, twirling a gun out of his pocket. "Not another step, my pretty."

"What have you done?" she asked, hoping she could appeal to the last shred of his humanity. "Jim, you've ruined his life. You've ruined my life. What if…" She decided to use the only thing she could think of against him, "What if I ruined Seb's life? What if I published a ton of lies about him, peppered with the truth? What if the entire world thought he was a criminal, that everything he had done was faked?"

Moriarty laughed. "Oh, please. You couldn't possibly have the brain to pull it off. I'd like to see you try."

Alice crossed her arms, affronted. "Well I've already figured out how you've gotten this far."

"What, the computer code? It wasn't too difficult to get," he smiled, twirling his gun around a finger.

"Bullshit! None of that code is real. You had people on the inside who did it for you," Alice told him. "There is no master code. The British government may not be perfect, but no one is that dumb."

Moriarty nodded. "Good, good, you're onto something. Unfortunately, I've got to run. But I've left a treat for you at Baker Street." Alice raised an eyebrow, Moriarty checking his phone. "She's going to be bleeding out in juuuuust about 34 seconds."

"What? Oh my…" Alice's eyes flooded with realization as she pulled out her phone, desperately calling Mrs. Hudson. The phone just kept ringing.

When she didn't answer, Alice looked over to Moriarty, who mouthed the word "BANG!" with a laugh. She ran, frantically waving down a cab and dialign Mrs. Hudson's number over and over again.

"I'm Scotland Yard." Alice flashed her badge as she dialed again. "221 Baker Street, as fast as you can go." She glanced out the back window of the cab, Moriarty waving from a window.

They pulled up to 221B just as another cab was dropping John off. He was fumbling for his keys as she jumped out of the cab. Alice stuffed a handful of cash in the cabbie's cupholder, grabbing John as she ran up to the door. "Mrs. Hudson…"

They burst into the flat to find Mrs. Hudson alive and well, making tea and watching one of her favorite soap operas. "Oh, hello, dears. Is something wrong? Has Sherlock sorted everything out with the police?"

John turned to Alice, his ultimate realization sinking in. "Oh lord…"

"Go," Alice told him, gesturing towards the door. "Make sure he's alright. I'll stay here and watch out for Mrs. Hudson. I wouldn't trust the assassins out there with anything right now."

He nodded, running for the stairs as Mrs. Hudson asked, "Whatever is going on?"

"Sherlock's got to be in trouble. Someone told us you had been shot… he's got to be behind this. He wanted us away from wherever he is, whatever he's doing. I'm going to assume he wants to clear this up and make sure there's no way we could be held responsible," Alice explained, sitting down next to her. "What are you watching?"

A moment later, her phone started to ring. Before Alice could say hello, Sherlock began talking. "Listen to me. I don't have very long to talk. I'm standing in a stairwell calling you, because you need to hear this. Alice, whatever you do, I need you to stay with Mrs. Hudson right now. Do not watch the news. In fact, turn off the telly. Don't check your phones unless it's John calling. Don't even look out the window. Close the curtains."

"Okay. Sherlock, what's going on? You sound terrified." Alice looked to Mrs. Hudson, who just shrugged.

"Everything will work out in the end. Remember what I told you. I'm going to need you to do something for me, after… after this. I need you to protect the others. Make sure the press knows who I really was, because otherwise, they will attack you, John, Lestrade, everyone I know with a career," Sherlock instructed. "Make sure they know I did this all on my own. II made everything up. I faked it all."

"No," Alice bit her lip, trying not to cry. "Sherlock, I know what you're doing. I know you, I know you better than anyone. I know you. You're real, Sherlock. You couldn't fake all of that. You couldn't fake being you all of the time. There's no way - "

"I have to go soon."

"Sherlock Holmes, don't you dare!" Alice jumped out of her chair, even though she had nowhere to go and no power to stop him. "I swear to -"

"Alice, please, calm down," he instructed, trying his best to keep his voice steady. "I need you to listen to me."

"No, you listen to me. Don't you dare do this. You know what it will do to all of us, Sherlock."

"Goodbye, Alice. I love you. I always will."

"I… I love you too." Sherlock hung up, Alice sinking back onto the sofa in tears. Mrs. Hudson hugged her, turning the television off. Neither of them said anything, at least until Alice's phone rang again a few minutes later.

"John?" Alice asked hoarsely. Mrs. Hudson held her hand as she listened, John's voice breaking.

"Alice, get to Bart's," John instructed. "Sher… Sherlock's dead."

* * *

A.N.: AAAAAGH I hate Reichenbach. I mean, it's one of my favorite episodes, but it kills me every time. Ugh.


	13. Chapter 13

"No.. no." Alice grabbed her purse, running for the door as Mrs. Hudson watched in confusion. She paid off a cabbie to speed to Saint Bart's, where John was sitting on the sidewalk, his face in his hands. Lestrade sat beside him, silent. There was a pool of blood behind them, slowly drying into the concrete. "What happened?" Alice asked, wiping tears away from her face. The cabbie had been kind enough to give her some tissues and a supportive voice, but it hadn't helped much. "What the hell happened?"

"He jumped," John finally managed, swallowing the lump in his throat, Alice dropping down beside him. "He called me, and said… said he had faked it all, and that he was sorry. And then he jumped. Moriarty shot himself, and Sherlock jumped." Alice gave him a tearful hug.

"I'm sorry. I hope it wasn't caused by what Sergeant Donovan said earlier, the arrest…" Lestrade shook his head sadly. "I'm so sorry."

Molly walked out of the Emergency Room door, looking somber. "I'm so sorry, but I need you three to come and.. Come and identify the body."

Lestrade nodded, helping the other two up. John sniffled, regaining his composure as they walked towards the morgue. They were taken in one-by-one, Lestrade going first. He walked back out a moment later, looking at his shoes. "I'm not supposed to tell you anything that might influence your judgement. But, ugh, it's ghastly. I'll meet you upstairs."

John went next, coming out of the room a few minutes later. "Your turn." His voice nearly cracked.

Alice was incredibly tempted to ask if she really had to go in alone, but she of all people knew that it would be best if their reactions couldn't influence her judgement. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the morgue, Molly looking up at her. "Do I have to?" Alice asked, glancing at the body covered in a sheet on the table in front of them.

Molly nodded. "You were one of the people who knew him best. You're the best bet for a confirmation, you and John. I know it's all formality, but..."

"John heard him on the phone, he knew it was him. Molly, please don't make me..."

"I know, but legally, I have to do this. I'm sure you could identify him by, well, not his face, if you wanted to."

"No, I... I want to see him, to get to say a proper goodbye." Molly nodded and pulled the sheet back, revealing a fairly bloody corpse. Lestrade had been right.

Alice had seen worse, much worse, at different crime scenes. But this broke her. She had cried in the cab, but this was so much worse, seeing Sherlock, her Sherlock, stretched out on that metal slab. She slowly stretched out her hand, running it down the sleeve of his coat and over his fingers, lacing them between her own. "What have you done?" she whispered, looking over the face that she knew so well. "Sherlock… what have you done?"

"Sorry, but I need you to sign this," Molly interrupted, holding out a clipboard. "It makes the identification official."

"It doesn't feel like him," Alice told her as she signed, not bothering to read the form she had already seen so many times. The loved ones always cried as they signed the form, and now she was one of them. "The hands feel different… oh, but he has to be… how could he…?"

Molly set the papers down on another autopsy table, giving Alice a hug. "It's time to go," she said. "It'll only make it worse if you stay for too long."

Alice nodded, knowing deep down that she was right. So she leaned down and kissed the marble lips that she had known so well in life, whispering, "I love you," as she ran her hand down his face one last time. He'd already grown cold and plastic-like, the body having cooled quickly inside the freezing-cold morgue. Molly led her to the door, hugging Alice again and promising that she would be by later with dinner. Alice herself climbed the stairs and found John and Lestrade waiting.

Lestrade bade them goodbye at the doors, saying he needed to go and be with Mycroft, who was dealing with the fallout from Sherlock's scandal at work while managing the funeral home's directions. Alice and John hugged him, saying goodbye before numbly took a taxi back to Baker Street and informed Mrs. Hudson of what had happened, holding her through her hysterics. Finally, one of them decided they should make tea, and tea was distributed. Molly came over with dinner later on, all of them sitting together and eating, even though they weren't hungry.

John decided that he needed a drink, and called Lestrade, the two of them going out. He would stay with Lestrade that night, and many more nights after that. John couldn't live in the flat that he and Sherlock once shared, since it was simply too painful. Molly left later, since she had work to do on an emergency case out of Dunchurch. Mrs. Hudson pulled a bottle out from beneath her sink, pouring drinks for Alice and herself.

They took Chester out for a walk, passing by people in silence. Everyone who recognized them offered a consoling word or had a question, but all Alice could do was smile a sad smile and give them a nod. As they reached a crosswalk, Alice's eyes widened. "Take him home," she told Mrs. Hudson, handing her Chester's leash. "I'll be back. I promise I won't do anything stupid."

As Mrs. Hudson responded, "Okay, dear," Alice started running. She didn't stop until she reached St. Bart's, right where Sherlock had fallen earlier in the day. The street lamps illuminated the exact spot where he had lain. The hospital still hadn't cleaned all of the blood off of the pavement, which is what Alice was there to see. She had seen it earlier, of course, but it hadn't made sense then. As she took pictures of the bloodstains with her phone, she realized what she had been missing. The blood stains were enough to have come from someone falling from the roof and cracking their skull, but they didn't line up. They spattered in the wrong direction, which, to an untrained eye, would have still been convincing. But to Alice, they were definitely faked.

She laughed, sitting down on the pavement and leaning against the wall of the old hospital. "Bloody brilliant. Sherlock, I don't know how you did it, but… I can't believe you're alive."

Buoyed by her discovery, Alice headed home, but when she reached Baker Street, reality set in again. Even if the blood spatters looked wrong, they could have been from when John was pushed onto the pavement by a swerving bicyclist. He'd told her about being hit by a man who had seen Sherlock jump. It all fit. So the blood wasn't all Sherlock's, which made a lot more sense. He really had died.

But the body… something about it didn't seem right. But it was Sherlock. It had to be. Right? All at once, Alice collapsed in the stairwell, weeping. She wasn't sure if it was him or not. It all made sense, but then again, it all didn't. Everything and nothing fit at the same time. And it hurt. It was the first time she had been alone since she'd heard the news, and she'd just been running on adrenaline for the entire day and now well into the night. Sherlock, her Sherlock, her brilliant detective, was dead. But he was the world's brilliant detective. He was a lot more to her, the constant companion who had understood her insatiable curiosity and her macabre interest in crime.

Feeling like she had been punched in the chest, Alice got up, counting the seventeen steps up to 221B. Chester was sleeping in front of the dying fire, Alice smiling sadly as she saw him. Sherlock had taken to the dog easily. He'd volunteered to take him on walks when things needed investigating, and remembered to feed him, even if he himself hadn't eaten for a day or so. Chester had grown fond of him, and would fall asleep on Sherlock's feet if he was sitting on the sofa. It usually worked out, unless Sherlock jumped up with an idea.

She turned on the lights in the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. _I look like a zombie. Red eyes, pale skin, my makeup's dripping. I look like I haven't slept in a week. Ugh. I need a shower in the morning, before I have to face the press and get everything in order._ Alice washed her face, hoping it would make the redness go away. Or at least make her eyes less puffy. The media would be out in the morning, looking for a quote. She would have to stand at the window and look somewhat composed. _Or I could leave the curtains shut all day. They don't need to see us. But I have to clear his name. They have to know that we still believe in him._

Ultimately, Alice sighed, threw her shoes into a corner, and dropped down into Sherlock's bed. She was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

" _What's wrong?" Sherlock looked over at her, Alice finding herself suddenly standing in the middle of the living room._

" _I… I don't know. I feel like I'm missing something, but I don't know what." She looked around, the flat appearing normal. Something was off, but she couldn't tell what. Something wasn't right. "I... something's off, Sherlock."_

 _He smiled, standing to pull her into a hug. "That's okay. Come here."_

 _Alice gladly wound her arms around him, happy to have Sherlock there, not running around the city chasing criminals or cutting up bodies on the kitchen counter. She looked up at her detective, glad to see his beautiful eyes again. They looked different, though. Something was wrong._

 _The eyes were wrong. It wasn't Sherlock. Suddenly, the man shrank, his hair becoming straighter, the facial structure changing. Alice stepped back in horror, Moriarty smiling. "Oops, looks like I ruined your precious little detective. So sorry!"_

She woke up with the sound of his maniacal laughter still ringing in her ears. Sitting up in bed, Alice looked out of the window, watching the moon. Sherlock was gone. He had jumped from the top of St. Bart's, broken his neck. He was gone. Alice wept bitterly, clutching a pillow that still smelled like him. It wasn't the pretty kind of weeping like in movies. She wept with the full force of the agony that had been thrust upon her.

It was only when she had caught her breath, stopped crying so hard that she was hiccuping, that she noticed the piece of paper fluttering in the window. Curious, Alice stood up slowly, moving towards the window almost mechanically. Someone had opened it, trapping a piece of paper under the window sill. Someone had left her a note. Cautiously,. Alice opened the window, catching the slip of paper before it could be swept away in the wind. Written on the back of a page from an autopsy form was a message directed to her.

 _My lovely Alice - I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to do this to all of you. I know I'm breaking your heart. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll be back as soon as I can. I'm going to take care of Moriarty and his network. I'm going to make sure you're all safe. I love you. - SH_


	14. Chapter 14

The marble gravestone sat under the shade of a giant oak tree, which allowed Alice to spend much of her free time there. After work, on weekends, even on her lunch breaks, Alice would head down to the cemetery and sit by the gravestone, as if she was waiting for something. The first few days, she spent all of her time there. Lestrade had come by and found here there, bought her dinner, and made her go home so she wouldn't fall asleep by the gravestone. She'd done that too, and would admit it readily.

As summer turned into fall, Alice moved most of her things into 221B. John had moved out, having not been able to stand being in the flat that he and Sherlock had lived in together for so long. Alice, on the other hand, moved in, since she had not given up the idea that Sherlock had faked his death. She fell asleep in his bed every night, finally giving up and washing the pillowcases and sheets when they stopped smelling like him. As fall began, she found one of his scarves and wore it every day. A few people noticed, but no one said anything.

The only other person who seemed to believe in Sherlock faking his death was Anderson, who had spiraled downward since "the fall", as they all called it. No one could bear to say the words, so they just referred to that day as Sherlock's "fall". Anderson especially, believed it was "the fall", and not his new hero's death that had happened that day. No one seemed to have been able to convince him otherwise.

Anderson saw it as partially his fault, since he, like so many of the others, had written Sherlock off as a psychopath, a pompous prick. Anderson had become obsessed with Sherlock and his potential return, leaving Scotland Yard in favor of figuring out how he could have faked his death and how he would be coming back. He'd started a fan club and kept inviting Alice, who finally broke down and went to a meeting. She was ushered into Anderson's home, which his ex-wife had long since vacated.

"What was it like, solving cases with him?" A teenage boy in a deerstalker pressed her for an answer, setting down his can of Pepsi as the fabled detective's accomplice entered the room.

One girl, who Alice could tell was taken with the romance of the story, which had been drummed up in the media and blown up on the front pages of every tabloid in the country, asked, "Did you think you were going to get married?"

Others had questions too, peppering her with them as she took a seat among the group. "What was he like when he wasn't working?"

Their questions tired her out more than anything, but she was given a reprieve when Anderson outlined his theory of how Sherlock would be coming back. "Look, the monks in Tibet, the hung jury of Hamburg, it's all Sherlock. It's his style. He's solving cases, and he's on his way back. He'll be back in London soon. He went away, and whatever he was doing, he's getting closer," Anderson told them, unfolding a map that he had drawn all over, outlining the possible routes that Sherlock could be taking to get back to England. Alice had to smile a bit - one of them was shaped like his initials turned sideways, another like a ladybug, and another resembling something like the symbol of the royal family. Anderson did give a convincing argument, though.

It was getting close to Halloween when Alice went past Baker Street on a case, glancing down the road as she heard people shouting. There was a small group marching with signs in front of their building. "Oh lord." Assuming they were picketing to show that everyone still hated the detective for all of the crimes he had "committed", she continued towards Gower Street on her investigation. But when she was coming home from work, they were still there. The group had gotten bigger, and people were now lighting candles and chanting as one collective.

Edging closer to see their signs, Alice ducked behind the sandwich shop next door, where protesters were crowding for dinner. Mr. Chaterjee was glad to have them, so he didn't complain about the people blocking his street. "I belive him! I believe in Sherlock Holmes! We believe him!" Alice smiled, climbing the back stairs into 221B and finding Mrs. Hudson at the window.

"They've been out there all day," Mrs. Hudson told her. "I had to smuggle Chester out the back door to take him for a walk. They're taking pictures and shouting, and marching… They were singing a little while ago."

"That's beautiful." Alice looked out onto the street, some of the people in the group pointing at her, talking amongst themselves as they held their (rather loud) vigil.

"I think they want you to say something, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "It looks like they're waiting for you out there."

Alice sighed, glanced in the mirror, and went downstairs. She stopped in the front hall, looking at where one of Sherlock's coats still hung on a hook next to hers and Mrs. Hudson's. If it got particularly cold, or she missed him particularly much, she would wear it, even though it was too big on her. But it worked. And she'd found a note inside of it a couple of months after the fall, written in code.

 _I miss you. Never give up. x Sherlock_

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, the crowd falling silent. "Thank you, all of you, for what you're doing. It… it's great to know that so many people still believe in Sherlock, in everything he's done. I can't tell you how grateful I am to have all of you supporting him. I can tell you that this… it's hurt all of us. It's hurt all of London, the entire world, losing him. But all of you give me hope… hope that maybe, just maybe, there's more to this than we all know. Thank you."

Someone began clapping, and then they all started to cheer. When Alice went back inside, they were still out there. However, as the sun finished setting and the moon began to rise, Scotland Yard became annoyed with the blockage of the street. At first they began asking people to move. Then they began directing people away and out of the street. But someone swung at an inspector, and suddenly, the cheers of support turned into vicious shouting at the police, who many in the crowd blamed, at least in part, for Sherlock's death.

The vigil turned into a riot, with backup being called out and the protesters alternatively fleeing and fighting. All Alice and Mrs. Hudson could do was watch from above as the police dragged the most vocal away in handcuffs. They would make the nightly news for sure.

The next morning, no one was out on the street. Signs and candles still littered the sidewalk, many of the protesters dropping their things as they ran from the police, or as they were arrested. The newspapers all mentioned the previous night's events, with pictures of the riot and of Alice addressing the crowd. _They better not say I motivated any of this. Lestrade will be asking questions as it is._

Lestrade did question her, but it was nothing terrible. On her lunch break, Alice stopped by the cemetery, finding that people had left flowers on Sherlock's gravestone overnight. She smiled a bit, sitting down on the cold ground, putting her hand to the cold marble. "There was a riot on Baker Street last night," she said, "and they were all shouting 'I believe him' and things like that. It was… well, it was sweet, at least until the police showed up. You would have appreciated it."

Somehow, it made her feel better, sitting there and talking like he was still there. John's therapist would have said it would be better to talk to her, because there were surely some unresolved issues there, but Alice had refused., John eventually dropping the subject. "You know," she told the stone, "your brother's getting married soon. It's a quiet, civil ceremony for the family only, but he's asked me to come along. They don't want it getting out about the man with the minor position in the British Government and the head of Homicide and Violent Crimes at Scotland Yard. I think that's silly, but if they don't want to tell anyone just yet, that's their decision." Alice sighed, looking at her reflection in the black marble. "I wish you could be there. I know they would've wanted you there, no matter what your brother would've said. Lestrade would've invited you, even if Mycroft was an ass about it." She paused, thinking for a second how fruitless it was, talking to a stone, something that was cold and blank and would never answer. _But that's what some people would say about Sherlock. But he wasn't like that, not really._ "I miss you," she admitted to the stone. "I miss you. I miss you more than anything. Sherlock, if you're really out there, you have to come back… I know you told me not to lose faith in you, that it's all a trick. But Sherlock, please... "

Alice was used to people passing by in the cemetery and giving her strange looks. But the woman who walked past as she was talking to the headstone was one she could have sworn to be dead. It couldn't have been a mistake. She knew the woman too well, had worked with her for too long, had gotten to know her as both a person and a villain in her personal story. But she had died long ago… hadn't she? "Irene!" Alice jumped up, chasing after her, but the woman had already gone.

There was no mistake, though. Irene Adler was alive, and she had come back to London for a reason, even if it was only to prove a point. And if Irene Adler could pull off faking her death more than once, Sherlock definitely could.

* * *

A.N.: Happy Halloween, loves! I hope you all have a great day! What are you all dressing up as?


	15. Chapter 15

Alice sat outside of the sandwich shop next door to her flat, sipping a cup of coffee. John and his current girlfriend, Mary, had just left her after a nice lunch. Mary seemed nice enough, but there was something about her that she didn't trust. Maybe she was being too suspicious. Shaking her head, she looked out onto the street, watching cars go by. Sherlock would have known. He would have been able to pinpoint it instantly.

While John had moved out and moved in with Mary, Alice was still at 221B. It was partially for her own sake, but also for Mrs. Hudson, who would be left alone if she moved out. Besides, Baker Street provided familiarity, and it was close enough to Scotland Yard for her needs. Why move out if it was a perfectly fine place to stay? It reminded her of Sherlock, who she still hadn't given up on. While all of the others had pretty much moved on, Alice still held out hope. There was Anderson, but all of his theories were so convoluted that she could only shake her head at them and thank him for his positivity. They seemed to get weirder each time she visited. The last one had something to do with the real Sherlock being caught by some sort of time travelling unit (which, of course, was a government secret) as he fell, allowing him to lay on the ground and pretend to be dead in almost an instant as time slowed down for everyone else.

Molly provided a bit more hope. She didn't say anything outright, but she would remind Alice not to give up, because, "He's Sherlock. He can do things like that. If anyone could pull off something like that, it would be him." Her visits to Saint Bart's would leave Alice feeling better, even if it was only marginally. If someone as brilliant as Molly could believe that there was a way he could have faked his death, there was hope that it was actually true.

"Hi there." A smiling reporter dropped into the seat across from Alice, saying, "I'm Kitty Riley. We've met before, a long time ago-"

"I'm not interested." Alice went to gather her things, but what the woman said next made her pause.

"They're announcing that they're dropping all charges against Mr. Holmes tomorrow. I'd love it if you could give me a quote." She pulled out a tape recorder, switching it on before Alice had a chance to say no. "Anything, really."

Alice took a deep breath, processing the news and telling her, "That's wonderful news. The family will be honored. I'm sure Sherlock would have been thrilled," before getting up and starting to walk away.

Kitty Riley was persistent, however, and decided to follow her as she headed for the Yard. "Do you miss him? What's it like, still living at Baker Street, while he's gone?"

"It's not fun, as you can imagine. But please, I'd rather not relive everything that happened. And I have to get back to work."

"Hmm." Kitty pursed her lips, Alice being forced to stop and talk to her as she waited to cross the street. "How do you feel about the ruling that James Moriarty wasn't guilty either? Of all of the things Sherlock was charged with? How do you feel about the Brook-Moriarty scandal?"

"It's nice to know that Sherlock has been vindicated. As for Moriarty and Richard Brook, I'm just glad they're out of my life." Alice crossed the street in a hurry, moving away as soon as the light changed. She wove into the crowd, losing the reporter.

When she got back to Scotland Yard, however, her day did not get any easier. Sally Donovan passed by carrying a file on one of their latest cases, telling her, "Lestrade wants you out in Stoke Newington. There's an investigation there he thinks you'll enjoy." She paused, leaning against the wall. "It's great he hired you, you know. Thought it would keep that pesky detective away, having someone here who can do what he did and who could actually work with other people. You get all of the crime scenes we can't process, just like he did. But it's still odd, not having him around." As she turned to leave, she remembered something else. "There's a man in your office. I'm pretty sure it's Lord Moran."

"Lord Moran?" Alice visibly paled, but Donovan didn't notice. "The Lord Moran?"

"Yeah, he's only been here for a few minutes, but he looks serious."

"I'd better go deal with that. Uh, thanks." Alice left for her office, which was next to Lestrade's. She'd recently been promoted to the #2 position in the Homicide and Violent Crimes Unit, which came with a few perks, including her own office. As she went to open the door, she spied the back of Lord Moran's head in the chair across from her desk. But there was another man sitting with him, one she didn't recognize but definitely didn't like the looks of. "Hello."

"Alice." Moran stood, giving her a hug. "It's been far too long, hasn't it?"

"Uh, yes. How are you doing, Seb?"

"I miss our friend terribly, but, well, I've been moving things along. I*'m sure you miss your detective, but you must have had time to reconsider where your true loyalties lie. The real reason I'm here, however, isn't to catch up," he admitted with a smile, taking in the woman he had once worked closely with. "I'm here to introduce you to Mr. Charles Augustus Magnussen. I'm sure you've heard of him, or at least know of his work, in some capacity."

"I'm familiar with it." She shook hands with Magnussen, reading him easily. _Family money, but he's made his fair share. Magnussen. Nordic name… Denmark? Shortsighted. Calculating, definitely. He's doing it too. He's analyzing me too. Probably finding blackmail. Don't trust him._ "Owner of half of the news outlets in the country, how could I not be? Alice Reilly. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Magnussen smiled, nodding as he said, "We have a few things to discuss, Miss Reilly."

"And that is where I must leave you," Moran told her, standing and saying his goodbyes to both of them. "We really should catch up one of these days, Alice. I always liked working with you. And I'm sure we've both had a lot happen since we saw each other last. But I have to get back to work. Parliament calls."

Moran closed the door, Magnussen watching him walk away before getting up, closing the blinds, and taking a seat again. He leaned on the desk, telling her that, "I know who you are and what you've done, Miss Reilly."

"What do you mean?"

"Government minister in Cote d'Ivoire, chief of staff for the army of Guinea-Bissau,a South African legislator, the mayor of Santo Andre, Agriculture Minister of Guyana, Mr. Economics in Bulgaria," Magnussen listed, counting them off. "British Army atache in Athens, multiple presidents of Russian separatist movements, Indonesian anti-corruption leader-"

"Okay, I've got it." Alice took a deep breath, telling him, "How?"

"I have friends in high places. And in low places," he explained. "Miss Reilly, I would highly suggest that if you do not want this information leaked to the public, you listen to what I'm about to say very carefully. It wouldn't do to have the 2nd in command of a valuable division in Scotland Yard, not to mention the girlfriend of the late, great Sherlock Holmes plastered all over the front pages of every paper in the country, and many international news outlets, because of her rather shady past, now would it?"

"What do you want?" Alice asked, visibly tensing in her chair. "Money? Immunity? And why are you blackmailing me when you could go right to Lestrade?"

Magnussen smiled like a shark would before it consumed its prey. "It's simple, really. I want you to make sure Sherlock Holmes does not look into things too much. There may be strange happenings around London, but neither of you need to worry about them. My company is making some… strategic moves, shall we say. If you pry too far into them, you will end up all over the news in an instant. And remember, one only needs to feed a rumor to the press. None of it has to be documented."

"I know you're busy, but I'm sure you've seen the news," she told him, shaking her head. "Sherlock's been dead for two years."

Magnussen stood, opening the door. "I'll let you think about it. But it starts with that body in Stoke Newington. Don't pry too much, and maybe, just maybe, your secrets will be safe with me." He closed the door, leaving Alice slightly shaken.

Reflexively, she took her phone out, about to dial Sherlock. But then it dawned on her - he wouldn't answer. She called anyway, if only to hear his answering machine message. "Sherlock Holmes. Leave a message." Alice hung up with a sigh. There was no one she could tell, since no one knew except Sherlock. Well, Lestrade did, but he wouldn't want to know that Scotland Yard's reputation was under threat. Mycroft wouldn't care. And if she did tell Mycroft, Lestrade would find out. So she went about her work, going home to an empty 221B at the end of the day.

Chester was asleep on the rug, but right away, Alice could tell that something was wrong. She hung up her coat, dropping her purse on the table and grabbing her gun. Prowling around the flat, she checked each room, not seeing anything out of place. But when she came back into the living room, she noticed a figure by the window. It was one she recognized, one she hadn't seen in a very long time. It turned to look at her in the darkness. They started at each other for what seemed like an eternity before he spoke up. "I've missed you quite a lot. It would put a damper on things if you shot me."

"Sherlock? I... Sherlock!" Alice dropped her gun on the table, running over to hug him, vaulting over the table to get to where he stood.

She hugged him excitedly, Sherlock wincing. "Not so tightly," he told her, giving her a kiss despite being in pain. "I'm sorry I've been gone for so long. I had a lot of work to do, but I'm back in London now. To stay."

"Where have you been? I waited. For years, I waited. I put up with the press, with the questions, with everyone else's grief. I..."

"Don't cry." Sherlock pulled her close, leaning his chin on top of her head. "I've been dismantling Moriarty's network around the world. It's been difficult, but I've managed to take a lot of it down. And solve a lot of cases. I see you've been doing the same thing."

"You've been around here, haven't you?" Alice asked, leaning on his shoulder.

Sherlock nodded. "There have been so many times that I wanted to tell you, tell John, tell anyone that I was alive, but the time wasn't right until now. I still had a lot to get done. But now i'm home. The world is going to find out that Sherlock Holmes is back when the news breaks in the morning. For now, though, I need a shower. The last time I had a real shower was before Serbia."

Alice laughed, letting go of him. "I'll go heat up some leftovers."

* * *

A.N.: Have any of you seen Doctor Strange yet? I love it so much! And I love all of the Sherlock allusions in it. If you haven't seen the movie yet, you really should. 221/10 would recommend it.


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock. It really was Sherlock, sitting next to her on the sofa, breathing, talking, eating, petting Chester. It was Sherlock, her Sherlock. He really was alive. She hadn't been absolutely naive to believe it. "How did you do it?" Alice asked, taking a sip from her wineglass. "Anderson's got a hundred theories, but they're all ridiculous."

"Lazarus," he smiled, kissing her forehead. Alice raised an eyebrow, Sherlock explaining it away with, "It's, ah, not important."

"You're right," she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. She wouldn't stay there for long, since Sherlock sprang up in alarm at the sight of the empty information wall.

"Where is it? All of it's gone!" He spun around, checking the other wall. Thankfully, Alice had left the painted smiley face that had been shot multiple times on the wall. Good. At least he wouldn't have to deal with Mrs. Hudson in replacing that one.

"Relax, silly. I put it all in a box," Alice smiled, fetching the cardboard box labeled "info. wall" from a bookshelf and handing it over to him. "You want to put this all back together right now?"

He had already answered the question, taking everything out and starting to tack things back onto the wall, leaving out evidence from cases that Alice had long since solved in his absence. They would go in different files later. But for now, the basics of the wall had to go back up. "Map of the Underground." He held out his hand, Alice passing it over. As he reached up to secure one of the thumbtacks, Alice noticed something curious.

"What's that?"

He turned to raise an eyebrow, asking, "What's what?"

"Your back. You're covered in bandages."

Sherlock turned around again, going back to work. "It's nothing." But sure enough, as soon as he raised his arm to tack something up on the wall, she could see the outlines of bandages all over his back.

"Don't lie to me," Alice told him, stepping up on the sofa to look him in the eye. "It doesn't work."

"You don't want to know," he sighed. "It's not a good story."

"Try me." He stepped down, slowly lifting the back of his shirt to reveal a network of bandages and wounds that had already healed and scarred over. "Oh my… Sherlock, what… what the hell happened to you?"

"Serbia. Serbia happened. They wanted information. I didn't give them information. Needless to say, they didn't take it too well."

"No offense, but it looks horrible." Alice traced her finger over some of the healed scars, shaking her head. "How can one person go through all of that?"

"179," he told her, wincing. "179 lashes before Mycroft stopped them."

"Mycroft stopped them?" Alice circled around to face him, kissing her detective. She grabbed his hands, telling him, "I'm sorry. It looks so awful… If I could lash them right back, I would. But if you need anything, bandages, meds, whatever, tell me. Just… no real drugs, please?"

Sherlock had a one-word response. "You."

"What?"

"I need you. To keep me company," he insisted. "I… I missed you. A lot. It made it all worth it, all two years of this, just coming back to London to see you."

" _Just tell us, and I'll stop. It's not that difficult, Mr. Holmes. Remind me, what are we at, 113? 114? Ah, hell, I'll say 113. More fun for me." The man with the whip laughed, raising it over his head again. Sherlock braced for the crack and the sting that came a second later. It was really 115. Think of them. John, Mrs. Hudson. You're doing this for them. Alice. Oh, Alice. I miss you. Unbearably._

 _He bit his lip, lash 116 coming down hard. Alice. Her, sitting on the other side of the table, typing up a report while he was conducting a science experiment. Alice, following him on a case, deducing things that he hadn't even seen yet. Alice, sleeping on the sofa while he paced the room, lost in thought throughout the night. How she would smile at lines in books, or how she never bothered matching socks when they came out of the wash. How she'd label all of the leftovers in a careful hand, so they always knew whose was whose and what was what. How she always had a cup of tea for every problem, even if there was no real solution. How she'd leave notes or chocolates in his coat pockets, reminding him to eat while he was on a case. How she hummed show tunes while she did the dishes. How she always remembered the groceries, even if she'd been at work all day and really didn't feel like going shopping. It was worth it, if this meant keeping her safe. If she could go about her normal life and not have to worry about Moriarty or his network, it would all be worth it. If she never had to be afraid of them again, all of this would be for a good reason._

"Okay," she smiled, "but you're going to have to be careful with all of those open wounds. No running around London, chasing down criminals or anything. You need a good rest and some proper food."

"I guess," Sherlock sighed, going back to what he had been doing. The information wall was almost all back up, just missing a couple of things. "You know… it seems like everything's changed."

"And by 'everything', you mean John," Alice deduced, handing him the last printout to go up on the wall. "I know. He's changed, he's found Mary... But he's happy. For a long, long time, he wouldn't even come down this street. We would meet up in other places, most of the time across the city and out of our way. We did what we had to. And he wouldn't walk past Bart's. He's come a long way."

Sherlock nodded silently as he stepped down from the sofa and looked over the newly reassembled information wall. "You, I see, had no such problem."

"How could you possibly know…"

"Even when I wasn't here, I was. I heard everything you said at that headstone, you know. Audio feeds are nearly undetectable these days, and can be accessed from all over the world." He smiled a bit as Alice's eyes widened.

"You…"

"Yeah. I couldn't just leave you, now could I?"

"So all of those little things, those notes I found, the times I thought I saw you through a crowd… That was all you?"

Sherlock nodded. "Most of them."

"You're not the one faking the 'Skeleton Mystery' for me, are you?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, Alice having to explain, "It's in all of the papers. There's this skeleton they discovered in Victorian era clothes, with a manuscript of 'How I Did It' by Jack the Ripper sitting in front of him. It's clearly a fake, but the media pounced on it. I thought it was you, trying to get our attention. Lestrade had me on the case, but I dumped it for a real homicide."

"That one wasn't me."

"Well, I'm sure he'll let you have it. It seems right up your alley, and I'm sure you're itching to get back to real detective work again."

They sat down together, Sherlock lying on his stomach across the sofa. He dropped his head in Alice's lap and asked, "Are you going to come with me? To Scotland Yard?"

"I'll come with you in the morning when I go into work, but I have my own cases to work on. I've just been assigned a triple homicide outside of Basingstoke," she told him, running a hand through his hair. _I've missed this._

"Okay." I've _missed this._ "I still need a new assistant, though."

"John won't come back?"

"He's busy with his surgery. And he's told me to piss off on no uncertain terms."

"He'll be back," Alice assured him. "John cares about you. He'll be back before long. He's going to see that he misses it, all of the work we do. His life has become a little too sedentary. I'd love to come with you, but I'm terribly busy. And with Donovan having mucked up the investigation, I have more than my share to correct."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. But I have to go to work. There's the Basingstoke investigation, and then there's been something I've been looking into on the side. Someone sent in a report about a man disappearing on a train. It hasn't added up to much so far, but I've still got to chase it down. They're claiming it was someone from the House of Lords, but…" Alice sighed, "the reports aren't that reputable, to say the least."

Sherlock eventually got up, falling asleep in his own bed for the first time in years. Alice was about to take over the other side when her mobile phone rang. "Hello? I don't need telemarketers at this hour."

"Oh, I'm not a telemarketer. Not by a long shot."

"Seb?" Alice whispered, walking over to the other end of the flat. "Er, Lord Moran. How are you?"

"Lovely. And I'm sure you are too, with your little detective toy back in your clutches. Oh, yes, I know all about him being back. I keep an eye on people for a living, remember? National Security Committee and all," Moran told her. "Now, I'll repeat what I told you in your office. Make sure Mr. Holmes does not dig too deep into anything that's going on. Give him some petty mysteries - like that skeleton one that I see is taking over the media. Don't let him stray too far."

"You don't think I can control him," Alice scoffed. "Surely-"

"Surely you know where your loyalties lie. And the same for your secrets. Currently, they lie only with me and Mr. Magnussen," Moran reminded her. "And I hope you will remember that. If you don't want a public relations nightmare, let alone murder charges brought up against you, you will keep Sherlock Holmes, and yourself, for that matter, from investigating things you ought not to investigate."

Alice tried to object. "Seb, I-"

Moran interrupted right away. "Seb nothing. You two will stay with your petty crimes or your real crimes will become known. Mr. Magnussen will publish everything if I ask, no doubt. Expect a call from him later." The line clicked dead, Alice setting the phone down slowly.

As she got into bed, Sherlock sleepily turned to ask, "Who was that?" He had sprawled out on his stomach, as to not roll over on any of the wounds that Alice had just cleaned and rebandaged.

"No one. Just a telemarketer."

"Hmm. Kind of late to be selling things." Sherlock smiled, reaching for her hand and closing his eyes again. Alice laid down, taking his hand as she stared into the darkness, filled with dread.


	17. Chapter 17

Sherlock, of course, insisted on going out into the city the next day, despite all of Alice's protestations. Lestrade had been in contact with him already, and he was itching to get back to work. Alice was forced to sigh in assent and let him go, albeit with a warning to "be careful, and watch out for all of those bandages. I better not hear that you got hurt out there". She would be going in to work later in the day (and would check up on him with Lestrade). For now, though, she headed to John's surgery to see how he was taking the news. People were already preparing for Bonfire Night, but John was less than cheerful.

"Miss Reilly - ah, come on in," John nodded, holding her file as he put a face to the name. He looked over to where Mary was standing and raised an eyebrow. She smiled in return, taking a patient into another room. Alice followed John into his exam room, talking a seat on the exam table even though she wasn't ill.

Alice crossed her legs as she set her purse down next to her. John took a seat on the stool by his computer, waiting for her to speak. "You need to talk to him," Alice began. "He misses you, I can tell. You really do need to talk to him, even if he's an utter arse. He needs you, John."

"Two years," John reminded her. "He was gone for two whole years, and we didn't get any sort of a sign. No notes, no 'hey, by the way, I'm just dismantling Moriarty's mess, be back in time for tea', nothing. He left us here for two years, and expects that we drop everything and get drawn back into his bloody mess of a life. I hate to remind you, but you spent a week and a half in his bed, crying into one of his coats after what happened. You were a wreck - we all were. You spent two years hoping that he would come back, two years that you lost, holding onto the notion that just maybe he was alive, and he expects you to be okay just having him pop back into your life."

"You wanted him to come back as badly as I did," Alice countered. "I know you did. John, he's an arse, we both know that. But we should just be thankful that we have him back. Please, give him a chance."

John pursed his lips, but finally told her, "Okay. I'll go to Baker Street when I get off of work. But I'm not going halfway across London to solve crimes again. You shouldn't let him drag you around either."

"He isn't. He's taken Molly on as an assistant now," Alice said, picking her things up as John stood. "She's engaged, so she can't leave work any more than she has to, since she's got to help pay for the wedding. But she's minding him for now." She glanced at her watch, adding, "It's Guy Fawkes' Night. You'll be off early, won't you? Head over to Baker Street and talk to him. I'd be there, but Lestrade says that he needs all of us tonight. Apparently Bonfire Night means more crime. Or at least more kids breaking shop windows and trying to nick things from people in the parks."

Alice spent the rest of the day at work, handling her usual types of cases and helping to address all of the new reports that were coming in. From house fires to breaking and entering, she had to handle everything. No murders, though, which, while disappointing from a detective's point of view, was ultimately a good thing. It was nearly 11 PM when she got a text from Sherlock, telling her that she needed to come home, since he and Mary had...

 _...just rescued John from a bonfire and I can't deal with his hysterics. x SH_

She took a cab home, running up the stairs two at a time to find John and Mary sitting together, Sherlock across from them in his armchair. John was covered in ash and soot, but looked otherwise unharmed. "The drugs are wearing off," Sherlock reported, "but he's not in any shape to run a marathon. Or make it down the stairs just yet."

"What the hell happened?" Alice brought over a glass of water, trying to get John to drink.

"I was… drugged. Then the fire… thank god Sherlock…" John tried to speak, but Sherlock quieted him.

"He was drugged and put in that fire, but not because someone hates him. No, it was to get our attention," Sherlock explained, jumping up to pace the room. "But why, and who would do that? Who wants our attention that badly? I'm glad you're back, Alice. I need someone else to think about this with."

"Who would want your attention?" Alice asked, taking a seat. "What person - or what group, for that matter - would go to the extent of putting John in a fire to get your attention? Unless they wanted to test you, to see if John was some sort of a pressure point."

Sherlock froze, spinning around to look at her. "Say that again. Exactly what you said. Again. Those exact words."

"Uh… 'unless they wanted to test you, to see if John was a pressure point'."

"Pressure point," Sherlock nodded. "That's important."

"How?" Mary asked, taking John's hand.

"It sounds familiar, like the type of phrasing that someone with a decent criminal methodology would use. 'Pressure point'. Hmm." Sherlock ruminated on the words for a while, only nodding his goodbyes to John and Mary when they went home.

Alice, on the other hand, helped Mary walk John down the stairs and outside, telling her to call in the morning and let her know how he was doing. John kept insisting that he was fine, but Alice and Mary shared a look that said, "They're both like this all the time." She stood there until their cab had disappeared into the darkness of Baker Street before heading back upstairs, where Sherlock was still pacing.

He did this a lot, so Alice went about her business, putting the dishes in the dishwasher, blowing out the candles that were sitting on the mantle, putting on her pajamas, brushing her teeth, all of the usual things. It was only when she went to check that Chester had enough water that Sherlock stopped her. "What do you know?"

"What?"

"About all of this. You know more than you're letting on. I can tell." He waited patiently, watching her. "You're not telling me everything."

"Sherlock, please," she sighed, filling up the dog's water dish, "it's late. We both need sleep. Our nerves are pretty much shot-"

"You know something. You just didn't want to say it in front of John and Mary." He circled around to her other side, saying, "That means it has something to do with your past, since they don't know about it. It's something you'd rather forget, something you don't want dragged back up. You worked with - or for- someone whose modus operandi looked like this. You know something."

She sighed, setting the dish down and shaking her head. "I'm not sure if it's him. I can't be sure. I never worked directly with him. I'd always heard rumors about the things he could do, ruining people's lives with a couple of strokes of a keyboard. He's a publisher, one of the biggest in the world. He can put people's secrets out for the world to see if he wants to." She leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Chester pad over, looking for attention from Sherlock. "I don't think he would have had John put in a bonfire, but… well, you never know. Like I said, he could've been testing you, assuming this was him. He keeps appearing, though, so… it feels like he's going to be important in the future, if that makes sense."

"What's his name?" Sherlock pressed, bending down to pet Chester, who had stopped by his feet. "Who is he?"

Alice bit her lip, telling him, "Charles Augustus Magnussen."

"Magnussen, the publishing magnate?"

Alice nodded. "He's threatened me already. I'm… I'm supposed to keep you from looking into things too much. He's threatened to publish everything he has on me, which, apparently, is a lot."

"I'll make sure he doesn't," Sherlock promised. "And if he was the one who put John in that bonfire, he's going to have a lot to answer for."

"Please tell me you're not going to run off and chase this down right now," Alice yawned.

"Why? Do you want me to, er -" Sherlock paused, reading her face. "Stay here?"

"You don't have to, but I'd like that. I've missed you, Sherlock, and if we're going to get caught up in this Magnussen mess, and that skeleton and the disappearing man, and all of this crap… well, I'd like to be able to spend time with you while I can, because I can tell we're going to have a lot of adventures. And you won't be home a lot, or you'll be up all night experimenting or running across town."

Sherlock smiled wearily, pulling her into a hug. "Okay."

* * *

A.N.: I have a meeting to go to soon, but here I am, writing yet again. You know, I really should just write a book at this point. I hope you all are having a wonderful day! As always, thanks for reading and for all of the great reviews and messages. Love you all.

Note from the day I'm actually publishing: I'm going home for thanksgiving break tomorrow! I have two classes to sit through, but right now I'm watching stupid YouTube videos. Have a wonderful holiday if you're celebrating it, and a wonderful week if you aren't!


	18. Chapter 18

A.N.: Anyone have any recommendations for good writing music? Something that won't get distracting bc I'll try to sing along? Thanks in advance, lovelies. In other news, I'm tired but I'm writing anyway. And there is a mosquito in my room. Ugh, Florida problems. So anyway, here we go...

* * *

When Alice woke up, Sherlock was already up and about. She could hear him talking to someone - John, maybe? She yawned, stretching as she got up and headed out to make coffee. She was startled to find two people sitting on the sofa, an older couple talking to Sherlock as he gave agitated answers. "Oh, this must be Alice!" the woman smiled as soon as she saw her, standing to give her a hug. "Hello, dear. I'm Sherlock's mother. Call me Wanda."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I… I didn't realize we were having, er, company." She looked over to where Sherlock stood grimacing at her. "I…" _You should have told me. What are they going to think?_

"Neither did I. They just appeared here this morning, on their way home from a cruise," Sherlock fake-smiled. "Isn't it a pleasure? I'm sure they'd like to be going now. It's been an awfully long time since they were home." _I'm sorry, they just showed up._

"But we just got to meet your lovely friend," Mr. Holmes said, shaking Alice's hand. "Tim. It's nice to finally meet you, young lady. We've heard all about you, of course. Sherlock talks about you all of the time."

"Yes, yes, sit down," Mrs. Holmes told her, going into the kitchen. "I'll get coffee. Cream and sugar?" A moment later, she exclaimed, "Oh, Sherlock, are these eyeballs?!"

"They should stay in the cupboard, where they belong," Sherlock told her, following his mother into the kitchen.

Mr. Holmes shook his head at them, turning back to Alice. "He talks about you all the time, you know. Every time we call, every time we write, it's all about you. He absolutely adores you, you know. Kind of like when I met Wanda." He sighed, looking over to the kitchen, where Sherlock and his mother were arguing about why half of the cabinets were filled with science equipment. "He really isn't all that different, even though he likes to think so."

"You weren't at the funeral… oh, you knew, of course you knew," Alice deduced. "So did Mycroft, but he had to be there for show, right?"

Mr. Holmes nodded. "I'm sorry he couldn't tell you. I know it would've been a great relief, but he didn't think you would be safe if you knew. At least not until he took care of everything."

When John came over, Sherlock finally kicked his parents out, Alice going to take a shower and get herself together as they talked. She listened in on some of their conversation, but it was nothing too important. They'd decided to get some work done, since Sherlock could never sit still, especially after something as traumatic as John almost dying. As soon as she returned to the living room, Sherlock told her that, "We're going to get some work done on that disappearing train case. I know you've got a lot to do here and down at the Yard, so don't wait up for us."

"I won't." Alice gave him a kiss, telling them to be careful. "Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Fine," Sherlock sighed, grabbing his scarf and jogging down the stairs.

John turned to her, saying, "I guess that's my cue," and following Sherlock out of the building. Alice had no idea where they were going or when they would get home, but Sherlock kept such odd hours that it hardly mattered. They all were used to it, Mrs. Hudson leaving tea out and food in the refrigerator all of the time. Alice would only be surprised when Sherlock was home early. She spent the day running errands (they'd run so low on food that the fridge was filled with body parts, a couple of apples, and a slice of pie that looked like it was starting to mold) and writing up reports for Lestrade. He'd officially given her the day off, since she had been working all of Guy Fawkes Night, but he would be needing her to work on a fresh case soon.

It had gotten dark when Alice turned on the television, making dinner as she watched the news. "With many commentators saying the vote on the terrorism bill will be too close to call, MPs are now making their way into the Chamber for what the government is calling the most important vote of this session of Parliament. Over now to our political analyst by Parliament. Stuart - what do you think of the revised text of the bill?"

The commentator took his turn, straightening his tie and saying, "What freedoms exactly are we protecting if we start spying on our own people? This is an Orwellian measure on a scale unprecedented in modern British history. There is a fine line between safety and invasion of privacy, Nancy."

Alice sighed, changing the channel. Every major station was covering Parliament's upcoming vote, but she wouldn't be able to hear the result. Her phone had started to ring. Lestrade. Something was happening. "Greg, what's up?"

Lestrade spoke quickly, sounding like he was running downstairs to his car as they spoke. "There's a bomb on a train car stationed below Parliament. I need you down there helping with the evacuation. But we're also arresting an MP in connection with it, so we need all hands on deck. Wait, I'll need you there. I'll text you the address of the hotel. Damn, where did I put my keys?"

Her thoughts flashed to Sherlock and John, who had been working on a case that seemed very similar. "Is Sherlock-"

"Yes. Get down here as fast as you can. I need you to arrest an MP."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Alice hung up immediately, grabbing her shoes and dashing for the door. There was no way she could get to Sherlock in time, but she would be there when they arrested the man in charge of the plot to blow up Parliament. The entire cab ride over, she kept hoping and praying that Sherlock knew how to dismantle a bomb. Or at least stop one in time, otherwise they would have almost no government in just a few minutes. She met Lestrade at the hotel, where he threw her what looked like an old Halloween costume. "What the hell? Are we going for slutty late Halloween or - "

"We're going to trap him. I need you to be the one to knock on the door," Lestrade told her in a whisper, watching as Donovan stationed herself down the hallway and checked her weapon. He looked back at Alice, lowering his voice even more to tell her that, "Sherlock's fine. We have a team on the way to get him and John. It should all be fine, but we need to get this guy."

One quick-change in a staging room later, Alice was in her new uniform, wheeling a trolley down the quiet hallway. Pushing aside her worries about Sherlock and John, she continued to push the trolley and focus on Lestrade. She was listening to Lestrade's instructions through an earpiece concealed by her hair as she went. "Pass 305. He's going to hear you walking around and get worried. Just smile at him and continue on your way. Okay, he's getting up. Outside team reports he's headed for the door. And 3, 2, 1."

The door to room 305 creaked open, Lord Moran stepping out, carrying a briefcase. Knowing that he would recognize her face if she looked up, Alice busied herself with the trolley, but still faked a Cockney dialect to say, "Good evening, Sir. Anything I could help you with?"

"Evening." Moran didn't look at her, but instead went directly to the elevator and began pushing buttons. The 'down' button wasn't responding right away, so he kept pushing it impatiently.

As soon as he had his back turned, Alice sprinted down the hall, pulling a handgun from her apron. "That doesn't do anything. Hands up." She cocked the gun as Donovan rounded the corner and another officer jumped out from behind an ice machine. Moran slowly set down the briefcase, holding his hands in the air in defeat. His eyes widened slightly as he recognized the woman underneath the wig and the maid's uniform. "Hi, Seb."

"Alice." Moran said no more, but the look of realization and betrayal in his eyes as he was led away told her everything she needed to know. _This is it, I guess. You've chosen your side. Good luck, because you will need it. It's only a matter of time._

As soon as Lestrade had Lord Moran in the police car and Alice had signed off on some paperwork, she ran for the closest Underground station, which had been closed off while the bomb tech and disposal team was dismantling the car that had been wired to blow up Parliament. John stood there with Mary, talking beside a group of officers. Sherlock was leaning on a patrol car, watching the team go down into the station and come back up with bomb materials in hand. "Sherlock!" Alice ran up to him, Sherlock pulling her into a hug. "Oh, lord, you're alright."

"It's okay. It's all okay."

"Sherlock, you could have died. You could've just called the police. I-"

"I did," Sherlock promised her. "It's all over. Moran's going to jail. Er, what's with the costume?"

"It was a disguise, but that's not important. He's going to come after us," Alice said, letting go of him. "He has people everywhere, Sherlock. He's going to try to get us one way or another."


	19. Chapter 19

Alice was busy hanging up laundry, humming to herself as Sherlock tried yet again to match colours for the wedding. He had been going mad with preparations, since he had no new leads and was itching for something to do. He'd gone through the entire closet at least three times, and he was busily taking things out of it and stacking clothes all over the place yet again. "You don't need all of that, it's just a country wedding," she smiled, reaching for another hanger. "You'll do best just to -"

Sherlock had dashed out of the room, an idea for his best man's speech coming into his head. He'd been trying to write one for days, even summoning Lestrade from a crime scene and causing a fiasco on the street as maximum backup arrived, the Detective Inspector thinking something terrible must have happened. When she went to put the laundry basket away, Alice found that Sherlock had left, probably for the library. He'd taken out every book on speech writing and yet had still been Googling advice and asking for her input. Alice had volunteered to write it for him, but Sherlock insisted that he wanted to write it himself.

Chester barked, Alice going to the window to see an older woman coming up to the stoop. She knocked, Alice being forced to go downstairs and greet her. Silently, the woman followed her up the stairs, taking a seat in the flat. She had aged considerably since Alice had last seen her, but the stern face was still the same, albeit with a few more wrinkles. She still held the demeanor of cold iron, looking about the flat in disapproval. She would never let her wards keep their rooms this messy. That wouldn't have been tolerated at all. Someone would have surely been punished. Finally, the woman spoke, her repressed German accent bleeding into her English. "Vendla, dear-"

Alice shook her head. "That's not my name. It never was. Just like you were never my mother."

"Vendla, your family-"

"They aren't my family any more than you are my mother, Mamma. It's title only," Alice told her, crossing her arms. "I don't know why you've come back, but I don't want to see you ever again. Or any of them."

"Vendla, you're making a mistake. We all know that after your brother died -"

"You're not going to win me back any more than Seb did. Mamma, it's no use. Just go."

The woman stood reluctantly, looked over the flat once more, and spat, "You'll regret this, dear. You really will. We raised you to be better than this. We raised you to be powerful, to take over nations, to be rich. We gave you everything, and this is how you repaid us all. One day, you'll come to regret all of this."

"I'll only regret that I didn't kill you when I had the chance. Now get out of here before I actually do." The woman left in a huff, Alice collapsing into a chair. They were coming back, all of them. She hadn't seen some of these people for over a decade, not that she missed them. Something was going to happen, and it was going to happen soon. And someone was out there running everything, even if Moran had been arrested.

Sherlock came back a moment later, saying nothing. Alice had gotten up, going to wash a few dishes, when Sherlock came to stand next to her. He didn't speak at first, but as she reached for a plate, he raised an eyebrow, asking, "Vendla?"

"You heard," she sighed, setting the plate down next to the sink. He picked up a towel, drying it off as she sighed again, wishing she didn't have to tell him the story. "What I told you about Moriarty… well… it was only partially true. It was a much easier reality to live with than… than what really happened." She paused, Sherlock waiting patiently as she looked out of the window. "My parents died when I was four. They were diplomats, going to Romania from the US. That woman worked for the orphanage that took me in over here. They all gave us new names, nicknames and the like. Most of them had a very Germanic ring to them, since Ilsa, the woman who ran our ward, could pronounce them better than our names. We called all of the women 'Mamma' there, she's not actually my mother. That's where I met Moriarty." She began to talk faster, explaining everything. "His mother - his real mother - was the one that owned the place. He was treated like a prince, and while they trained the rest of us to be powerful people, he was put in charge. Sherlock, they trained us to be ambassadors and diplomats, but then when his mother died, he made all of the decisions. He was fifteen and a half when it was decided that instead, we would train to be assassins, dictators-in-the-making… that woman was the one who helped him, who put all of her efforts into training up a generation of people to do her bidding. But of course, every time someone came to inspect the place, we had to act normal or we would be whipped within an inch of our lives. We grew up together… we were friends, and I trusted him. I worked for him willingly. They'd indoctrinated us…"

"No one noticed this?" Sherlock asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

She shook her head. "No one looked too hard. No one cares that much about a little orphanage run by what seems like the kindest woman in town. Besides, we were in the country, outside of a little town that no one can pronounce the name of, somewhere in Leinster. No one paid much attention, and frankly, the people who did know didn't care."

"That's how you learned your trade, then?"

"Part of it," Alice nodded, finally turning the sink off. "I was thirteen the first time I ever killed anyone. I didn't quite enjoy it, but… it started something. And it kept me alive. So I started living that life. Moriarty kept me on when he officially began his empire - I guess I was particularly good at my job. I'm not proud of it, but that's who I am, Sherlock. Who I was for the longest time. But now it's all over."

"You're telling the truth?"

"Every word," she admitted, her voice shaking as she finally turned to look at him.

Sherlock nodded, unreadable. "What I don't get is how you had me convinced of your first story. People don't lie to me. It doesn't work. Who else knew?"

"Only Mycroft. We told Lestrade, and everyone else, the story that I told you. I guess some people can lie to you," Alice shrugged. Sherlock nodded, walking off. "Are you alright? I… I'm sorry. Sherlock-" He had already closed the door to the bedroom, Alice sighing. He would need time to think, but he would be fine soon enough. After all, they had a wedding to attend.

That afternoon, they rode out to the chapel together, saying little. Mrs. Hudson sat between them, bubbling with stories about those on the guest list and reminiscing about her own wedding. Finally, Sherlock snapped at her to be quiet. To appease the landlady, Alice started talking to her. "Of course, I'll help plan your wedding too, dear," Mrs. Hudson promised, grasping her hand.

"Ah," Alice fake-smiled, casting a sidelong glance at Sherlock. "Er, thank you." It was a blessing to be able to get out of the car when they arrived, Alice going to see Molly and her fiance, Tom, who were talking with Lestrade. Sherlock walked off to find John, Mrs. Hudson going to find Mr. Chatterjee, the owner of the sandwich shop next to her flat. They would all remain separated for most of the day.

Alice sat with Molly and Tom during the ceremony and at their table during the reception. Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson joined them there, Sherlock sitting next to John as he prepared to make his best man's speech. As they were all eating, a young boy came up to Alice, handing her a note. "Hello there," she smiled, setting her fork down and taking a sip of her wine.

"Mr. Holmes said to give this to you, Miss Alice."

"Thank you, er…"

"Archie."

"Well, thank you, Archie," Alice smiled, the boy nodding and going back to his table as Alice unfolded the note. It only contained two words, scrawled in a quick hand on a napkin: _Vatican Cameos_. Danger. Something was going to happen. She looked up at Sherlock, who nodded tersely at her. It didn't seem to be anything pressing - perhaps they were looking for someone among the crowd. She stood, ostensibly to get more wine and offer John and Mary her congratulations, but really to look around at the guests. Who would kill someone at a wedding? And more importantly, who would someone want to kill at a wedding?

As Sherlock stood to make his speech, Alice noticed John's old army commander, Major Sholto, sitting in a corner. Him. He'd gotten some of his men killed on a foolish expedition, and someone could very well be there looking for revenge. Sherlock too had come to this conclusion, slipping Sholto a note. The major stood and made his way to his room, preparing to defend himself. But that wouldn't work. "The Bloody Guardsman," Alice whispered to herself, following him out. Sherlock, John, and Mary were quickly on her heels, stopping outside of the room that Sholto had locked himself into.

Sherlock explained the situation as Alice paced the hall, finally digging a pin out of her hair to pick the door's lock with. But Sherlock had struck a cord, telling the major that there was no way he could let himself die at John's wedding. The lock clicked open, Alice jumping back as a medical team rushed in to keep Sholto from bleeding out. As the paramedics poured in to keep him from collapsing, Alice went to lean on the wall next to Sherlock. They had barely spoken for hours, only making eye contact when they knew they could be of use. Alice could sense that something was off, but Sherlock was still all nerves. Rightly so, since there was an attempted murderer still lurking somewhere.

When John and Mary went back down to the party, Sherlock and Alice stayed there with Lestrade, who had joined them. "We're looking for someone who can blend in with the guests, someone who he's affronted. Perhaps a husband, a brother, someone significant, who died under Major Sholto's command."

Lestrade nodded, grimacing. "What kind of bloody arse would do this at a wedding?"

"We've got to keep an eye out for them," Alice nodded, checking her phone. "Donovan says that Sholto's reached the nearest hospital."

"Good. I'm going to head down to see what I have to do now. We need all the eyes we can get on this party, since we've got an attempted murderer on the loose," Lestrade told them, heading back down the stairs and leaving the two of them alone together.

"You're mad."

"I'm not mad," Sherlock retorted, immediately proving Alice right.

She leaned against the wall, checking the back of her green dress to make sure she wasn't leaning on dust or dirt. Alice crossed her arms, saying, "Okayyy. Want to talk about anything?"

"No." Sherlock took his phone out, lazily flicking through his news feed.

"You're mad about something."

"No," he told her, trying to act bored.

Alice turned to face him, taking his arm. "Sherlock, please, we can't fight at a wedding, especially John and Mary's. I know you're not happy about him getting married, I know you know it's changing everything. And I know you're not happy that I lied to you, but honestly, it was to keep you safe. The less you knew, the better if=t would be for the both of us. Please, just talk to me. You'll feel better."

Sherlock shook his head, letting go of her hand. Silently, he went downstairs, Alice watching him sadly. She spent the rest of the evening watching him, glancing towards his seat as she took a sip from her wineglass during dinner, staring off towards him while listening to the toasts. She would find her attention drifting to him in her conversations, Mrs. Hudson finally waving a hand in front of her eyes, saying she'd had too much to drink. When they arrested the photographer, however, Alice had reason to follow him around again. She met Lestrade and Sherlock outside, where the wedding photographer was being put into a patrol car. One of the bridesmaids had followed them out and was buzzing around, but Alice paid her no mind. "Of course! It had to be someone who could slip by unnoticed, who could move people without them really paying attention to him… That's actually quite a smart idea. Greg, do you need me to follow him back down to the station?"

Lestrade shook his head. "Stay. You deserve to enjoy the party. I'll head down there and be back in time for the rest of the evening."

"You're sure?"

"Go on, have fun."

Lestrade drove off, Alice turning to Sherlock, who had been scowling behind her. "I don't know what to say to you. If you're not going to talk to me about anything, really, what do I say? Come on, Sherlock, you have to give me something to work with."

"Let's go, Sherl," the bridesmaid crooned, pulling him back into the hall. Alice pursed her lips and followed them, taking her spot back at the table where Mrs. Hudson was having a coffee. She'd stopped drinking some hours earlier, after she nearly spilled her wine on Molly's dress.

Alice was outside, on the phone with Lestrade, when John and Mary had their first dance. As the real dance music started up in the hall and guests flooded the dance floor, she saw a figure leaving, draping a cloak over itself. _Sherlock_. She hung up with the Detective Inspector, following Sherlock into a cab and back to Baker Street. He didn't object when she jumped into the cab after him, but didn't seem particularly happy either. They didn't talk through the entire ride there, but as soon as the flat door was closed, Sherlock turned to her. "What am I supposed to believe?"

"Sherlock, I'm sorry-"

"You've told me a few different stories, and I can't tell the difference, for some reason. What am I supposed to believe?" he complained as he hung his coat up. "You're the only person who's ever been able to lie to me that well. I… I don't understand it, and I don't like not understanding it. Alice… all that I have is my work, and you-"

"I mess that up, do I?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Without my work, I'm nothing," he spat.

Alice pursed her lips, her high heels in hand. "Without your work, you're still a brilliant man, you're still everything that's important to me. Without your work-"

"My mind stagnates-"

"And your work is never really enough, is it?" she asked. "You get bored and end up picking up drugs. You've done it before, I could tell. You've got the prick marks on your arms. You think I've never noticed, but too many needles in the same spot leave scars. And those nights when you came in too stoned to talk... Sherlock, it broke my heart. I thought I could be enough, but…" Alice sighed, grabbing her keys. "You're never going to be satisfied with anything. No matter how deep the mystery, no matter how powerful the drug, it won't be enough for you. You're going to keep going until you die, and it's going to destroy me, no matter how much I try not to let it."

With that, she turned away and went down to her own flat, where she rarely slept but stored all of her things. Chester was down there, asleep by the fireplace. As soon as she had locked the door, Alice sunk to the floor in a flood of green fabric, dropping her keys and her shoes by her sides as she began to cry.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, Alice woke up in her own flat, made her coffee, and opened her laptop, going about her work. Upstairs in 221B, Sherlock rolled out of bed, found some black coffee that had been sitting out for a day or so, and downed it while staring out of the window. Alice took Chester for a walk, Sherlock watching her from above. At one point, she did glance up at the building, seeing him standing there in his dressing gown, looking over the street. Neither of them said anything when they passed each other on the stairs as Alice came back up with Chester and Sherlock left for work, even though they both tried. They paused there for a second, but in the end, continued walking.

Late in the day, when Alice got back from work and was busy making dinner, Chester began to bark. He dashed through the flat, hearing someone on the stairs. Someone was at the door, knocking lightly, almost hesitantly. She set down the spoon she'd been stirring with, switching the stove off. Sherlock stood hesitantly at the door, taking a deep breath when he saw her. "Yes?"

"I, er, thought I should come down here and talk to you." Alice wordlessly stepped aside, allowing him in. Chester circled his legs, happy that the detective was home. He followed her to the kitchen, taking a seat on a stool as Alice went back to what she had been doing, switching the stove back on. Sherlock sat in silence for a moment, Alice waiting for him to speak. "I'm not mad about you growing up with Moriarty. I'm more miffed that I couldn't figure out that it was all a story, what you'd told me. I just trusted you, and I don't know why. But that's not why I'm here."

"Oh really? Is it now?" Alice turned back from the stove, crossing her arms. "Well, why are you here, then?"

Sherlock sighed, telling her outright that, "You're not going to like this, but do you remember the maid of honor from John and Mary's wedding?"

"Yes… What do you mean I'm not going to like... Wait, Sherlock-"

"I need to start dating her."

Alice swallowed her response, pursing her lips and simply asking for clarification. "What?"

Sherlock repeated what he had already said. "I need to start dating her. It's for a case, I swear. I've been enlisted to recover a set of letters from her boss, of a very delicate nature. The Lady Smallwood would rather they don't get published. But the maid of honor, she's the personal assistant to the man who has them locked away. So I need her to trust me."

She shook her head, reasoning that, "Surely you can just break into the office-"

Sherlock shook his head. "They need to trust me. Her boss already knows who I am, and could blow up my practice, your career…"

"Who is he? Some sort of warlord? A government official? A media baron?"

"Magnussen." Alice visibly blanched, nodding as Sherlock continued. "Magnussen has them, and he's threatening to ruin Lady Smallwood's career. If I can get into his office, I can destroy them, or at least recover them for her. But that requires a bit of dedication, especially if I want to avoid security."

"And you're telling me this why?" She opened a cabinet, searching through a bunch of spices.

"You deserve to know."

"You want my approval?" She held up something that had lost its label, raising an eyebrow. "I think this is thyme, right?"

"I don't need your approval," he retorted immediately. "I just… thought you should know," he softened his voice, trying not to make her mad. As Alice measured out some rosemary, he leaned his head on her shoulder. "I have to do this so I don't get shot breaking in or anything. I know you won't like it, but I need to do this."

"Okay," she sighed, turning back to him. Sherlock took her hand as she continued, "I guess this means I'll be living down here and not visiting as much, huh? When she's not over, you're welcome to come down here. I'll always let you in here, especially if you need a break from her. You know, when I first met her at the rehearsal dinner, I knew I'd come to hate her." She laughed a bit, smiling sadly. "Just, you know, don't…"

"Fall in love with her?" he smiled, kissing the top of her head. "You don't have to worry about that. She's a bloody vapid idiot. There's no one quite like you." Everything he had been angry about, all of the lies and the doubt, all of the nights spent lying awake and wondering who the hell this woman was, disappeared as she reached out to hug him. For an instant, it was just Alice, the way her hair smelled, the familiar embrace, just good things. He could trust her, no matter who she was or who she claimed to be.

Alice relaxed too, the heavy weight of the stress she had been carrying all day melting away, her tension headache finally subsiding. "Sherlock, I… what's burning? Shit." She let go of him, turning back to the stove to rescue her dinner. Sherlock smiled, grabbing plates from the cupboard.

For the next few months, Alice only saw Sherlock when he came downstairs at night, quietly knocking on the door and begging her for an intellectually stimulating conversation. She would smile and let him in, pouring them glasses of wine and sitting down to listen to him complain about Janine, about how she demanded a lot of attention, how physical she was. They'd sit there talking until late into the night, almost like before, when Janine wasn't involved in Sherlock's life. Or they'd watch something on television, either predicting the plot together or shaking their heads at the ridiculousness of reality TV. Or Alice would make him watch Doctor Who, since Sherlock could never completely predict the plot or wrap his mind around the warped concept of time travel. Half of the time, he would fall asleep on the sofa, leaning his head on her. _Poor thing. She's absolutely terrible. I'm surprised he hasn't gone mad already._

It was midday when she got the phone call. Alice had been sitting in her office, looking over the evidence entered into the Yard's system on a double homicide when her phone rang. John never called when he was at work. Something had to be wrong. John's voice was shaking as he told her to, "Get down to Bart's right now. Sherlock's on drugs again. Molly's already confirmed it, and I need you here with me before I kill him." Alice hung up, switched her computer off, and shouted to Lestrade that she had to run. He understood - they often had to drop everything and run after Sherlock, but it was usually because he had discovered something about a case.

When she got to Saint Bart's, John was leading Sherlock outside. He looked disheveled, like he hadn't slept in days. When he saw Alice jump out of a cab, the light in his eyes immediately dimmed. "What have you done?" She grabbed his hand, looking him over. "Sherlock, where's the list?"

"I was undercover for a case. No one seems to believe that," he insisted.

Alice pulled him aside as John and Mary went back into the hospital to check on the boy they had been looking for in the drug den in the first place. They stood near the Emergency Room, right where Sherlock had pulled off his death years before. "Don't lie to me. Your pupils are larger than they should be out in the sun, your skin is colder than it should be, and you look like you haven't slept in a week. Besides, Molly told me about the test results. So what was it? Cocaine? Heroin? Meth? One of those new drugs that Lestrade has to deal with people smoking and then going on rampages?"

"I would never touch the new stuff," he told her. Frowning a bit, looking at her like a sad puppy, he suggested, "Let's just go home. Please."

"You're high, Sherlock!" She dropped his hand, trying not to yell. "Sherlock, you promised me you wouldn't do this, that the mysteries would be enough. Even if they aren't, why? Why this? You're an addict, I know, and putting yourself in a drug den for a case was an invitation to slip up. You know you can't go there, you knew it. And yet you still went. You have the entire Homeless Network that could have done this for you. Any of them would have been willing to do it and make a couple of Pounds. Sherlock, you were there for a reason. You're an addict, and you were feeding an addiction."

John came back out of the hospital, announcing, "I'm taking you home. She shouldn't have to deal with you like this, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked to Alice, who told him, "I thought the mysteries would be enough for you. And then I thought I could be enough. You'll never be satisfied with anything, Sherlock, and then you're going to keep going, keep investigating, keep injecting, until one day you wind up on the wrong side of the autopsy table. Sherlock, this is going to kill you if you don't work it out. And if it kills you, I'll have to be there to watch it."

John led him away as Alice took a seat on the bench next to the ER doors. An ambulance raced up as John helped Mary into the car, driving away. She sat in silence, watching the paramedics take someone out and rush them into the hospital. The bustle and noise faded away, the ambulance driving off to pick someone else up. The world kept spinning, even though Alice was devastated. Sherlock was back on drugs, he was meddling in a case that could very well get them killed (if they were lucky, being killed would be the easiest thing to deal with), and she had to be there to control it.

When she got back to Baker Street that night, she could hear Janine laughing from 221B. Alice shook her head, taking Chester out for a walk. They rounded the neighborhood, Alice glancing up at the window when they returned, pausing as she searched for her keys. She could see Sherlock's shadow by the window, Janine going to hug him. Janine and her constant presence had annoyed her for months. She'd run into her on the stairs dozens of times, Janine smiling and wishing her a good morning/afternoon/evening/night/whatever bloody hour she was there. She would even come by to ask to borrow things sometimes, smiling and saying things like, "Sherl's never got sugar in the house. He hates shopping."

Alice would smile back, going to get some sugar. She'd give Janine a cup of tea as she mixed different compounds into the sugar, ever the good neighbor. Assuredly, she would hear about how "I must have messed up that last recipe. It was awful", accompanied by a laugh and a piece of celebrity gossip. Alice would roll her eyes and pretend to enjoy her company as she tried to get information from her about Magnussen. Or about Sherlock, which Janine would almost gleefully provide.

All of this seething hatred for the woman who had taken over 221B, all of the stress of having Janine in their lives, finally boiled over one morning when Alice discovered something on the Internet. It was confirmed when she went to the grocery store and someone said she looked a lot like the woman on one of the magazines by the checkout. In a garish print, Alice had become headline news. And she knew where Janine had found her source - Sherlock was the only one who knew all of the information she saw in print.

 _ **SCOTLAND YARD DETECTIVE DISGRACED**_

 _ **EX-ASSASSIN REVEALED?**_

 _ **SCANDAL ON BAKER STREET**_

 _ **WARRANT ON THE WAY FOR WAYWARD DETECTIVE?**_

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A.N.: Oh nooo, drama is about to go down. I hope you're all enjoying this so far, because I'm going to cry writing the next chapter. And it sounds like a sadistic thing to say, but I hope the next chapter makes you cry too. Writing is the best when it makes you feel something, right? Well, I'm going to be crying as I sit there writing the next chapter in the library.


	21. Chapter 21

A.N.: I'm updating again super-soon because I finished the last of my (difficult) exams today. I have one more on Monday, but it's going to be pretty easy. So I'm posing a chapter in celebration. As per usual, thank you all so much for the comments and reviews. All of them are much appreciated.

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Alice sat in her flat, surrounded by garishly colored tabloid newspapers that she'd collected during the day. Lestrade had called to say he would be there soon to "discuss the damage this has done", and Mrs. Hudson had come by to say that she didn't believe a word of it and that she would be there if Alice needed anything. Half of her feared that Lestrade was coming to arrest her, but only a handful of people knew the truth, and he wasn't one of them. The records of her past had been sealed long ago.

She knew who had done it, though. Sherlock had known every bit of what had been published, and only he would have been ruthless enough to publish it because he "needed to for a case". Besides, Janine was credited as an author on one of the articles, and quoted in a couple more. Sherlock must have been the one to release it to the media, through Janine, of course. He had been home all morning, but had been with Janine, so Alice couldn't go up to his flat and confront him. Or at least not like she wanted to. And now Lestrade was on his way. Just as she piled up all of the tabloids to throw in the fireplace, Lestrade knocked on the door. It was a steady knock, like one would expect from a Detective Inspector. She opened the door slowly, allowing him to step inside wordlessly. He turned to her as she closed the door, telling her that, "I had to go 'round back to get past the press. They're swarming the front steps. So what is it, then? How are we going to handle this? And who the hell would publish all of that… utter bullshit about you?"

Visibly deflating, Alice was able to let go of the nervousness that he had been coming to arrest her. "So you're not taking me away in handcuffs?" she smiled a bit.

"Ah, no, not unless you want me to."

"Greg!" She sighed, settling down on the sofa as Lestrade took a seat. "It was Sherlock who started all of this. I know it was him. Don't ask how, I just have my reasons. I know it."

"Why the hell would he publish all of that on you? What could he possibly have gained-"

She didn't hesitate, admitting that, "It's true."

"What?"

"It's true, every word of it. I know it doesn't seem like it, but it's the truth. I grew up with Moriarty, I trained with him. I worked for him. All of that's true. I was even meant to infiltrate the Yard. But I broke it all off, and I used their own knowledge against them. Sherlock knows, and he's okay with it. Mycroft is the only other one who does, but he granted me an official pardon years ago, sealed all of the records and the like. The only other person who had that information, besides Moriarty himself, well, and Sebastian Moran, is Charles Augustus Magnussen, the newspaper magnate. He has information on everyone, or so it seems."

Lestrade took a moment to process it all, but nodded and asked, "Magnussen was the one who published it? I mean, all of the papers that he owns?" Alice nodded. "I still don't get it. Why would Sherlock publish all of that on you?"

"It's for a case, or at least that's what I assume. I haven't had a word with him yet. You know him, Greg. He'll do anything for a case, even if it means destroying other people. Or destroying himself. He's never going to stop doing that, even if it gets someone killed. He didn't consult me on this, of course. I'm just expected to do damage control, like always." She shook her head, looking out of the window. "I've been trying to find him, but Janine's been home all day, and they both left a little while ago."

Lestrade nodded, knowing how she felt about Janine. They had mutually agreed that they didn't like her, and Alice would often sneer at her, even if she meant nothing more to Sherlock than the possibility of solving one of his cases. Alice prayed that the case would be solved soon and life could go back to normal. Or at least as normal as life could be on Baker Street. There would always be the body parts in the fridge, the odd science experiments going on in the kitchen, and the piles upon piles of books and data stacking up in the sitting room. All of the usual little comforts of home.

The went out for dinner, Alice hiding her distinctively red hair under a hat. Lestrade walked right next to her, shielding her from anyone on the road. Angelo was more than glad to have them, since he didn't believe a word of what he'd heard all day. It seemed like half of London believed it and half of them didn't, since many people pointed at them when their cab was stopped at red lights. _Oh well, people will talk._ Alice's phone began to buzz as they walked outside. It was John. Maybe he was calling about what he had seen in the news, or literally anywhere in the city. "Get down to Bart's, now. Sherlock's been shot. We're in the ambulance. Shit." John dropped his phone without hanging up, Alice overhearing, "God, Sherlock, please, don't die. Not here. Not now."

All of her anger melted away. Right now, it didn't matter what he had done to her reputation. Sherlock had been shot, and he was dying. She kept the phone glued to her ear, trying to make out anything above the wail of the ambulance's siren. Lestrade hailed a cab, pulling out his Scotland Yard credentials and telling the driver, "Drive as fast as you can. I'm a Detective Inspector, so this is a police vehicle now. Just drive." He grabbed Alice's free hand as they zoomed through London traffic, jumping out as soon as they reached the hospital. Alice ran, paying no attention to Lestrade, who jogged after her.

She caught John as he was heading towards a surgery suite, grabbing his arm and following him to the bench outside of the door. Wishing there was something more that she could do, she was forced to sit down and wait. "What happened?" she finally managed to ask, fearing the answer.

"We had to break into Magnussen's office for those letters. I'm sure he's told you about the case. But when we broke in, Janine fainted. It's a long story, but he fake-proposed and she fainted. So we got in. I was checking her pulse, making sure she didn't smack her head on anything, when I heard the gunshot. Someone else was there, and they'd shot Sherlock while I was busy with Janine. I stopped the bleeding as best I could, but it's mostly internal." John took her hand, bracing himself as a doctor walked out.

The doctor, a middle aged man who was just beginning to grow a beard, had come out of the surgery room, where a commotion was going on. "You're the family?" he asked, looking between them.

Alice and John stood. "Yes. Well, not really, but I'm his girlfriend, this is his best friend… we're the closest thing he's got. Is he okay? What's going on?"

"I'm Dr. Stevens," he told them, shaking their hands. "I would normally send a nurse out to talk to the family, but with someone so… high profile, shall we say, I thought I should speak to you myself. Your friend there, Mr. Holmes, is quite the fighter. He's died on the operating table twice, but he's pulled through both times." Alice was clutching John's arm tightly as Dr. Stevens continued, "He'll most likely pull through in the end, but he isn't totally stable yet. We're doing the best we can."

"Thank you." John nodded firmly, clenching his jaw. Dr. Stevens went back into the operating theater, and John and Alice sat back down. "He's going to make it," John promised her. "He won't leave you now."

"I was going to kill him… have you seen the papers?" John nodded. "He released all of that through Janine. Magnussen allowed it, though. But Sherlock was the one who told her, who asked her to publish it. And all of it's true… I grew up with Moriarty, I trained with him, I worked for him. We were friends. But I left him when I started working for Scotland Yard, when I met you and Sherlock… he was the only one who could've done this, and I'm sure it was him. It's all part of this case he's working on." She jumped up as something beeped, rushing towards the door of the operating room. She peered through the little window that separated the hall from the scrubs room, into the little window of the actual operating theater. "His heart rate is still too wild," she reported. "John…" He joined her by the window, seeing a few tears roll down her cheeks as she peered through the tiny pane of glass. "There's so much blood… How much pain…" They both knew how much pain it was to get shot, from personal experience rather than in their medical and criminological capacities. Healing would be a process. But first he had to make it off of that operating table.

When the nurses began filing out of the room, one of them stopped to say, "He's all sewn up. The bullet missed any internal organs, but he's going to have a hell of a time walking around. He's going to heal, though." Alice nearly wept in relief, but instead ran to the nurses' station, asking for a room number. They gave it to her, and she stood outside, waiting. She wouldn't be allowed in for a few more hours, but it was worth it waiting out there. At least she could listen to the monitors, pacing the hall in front of his door. John joined her a little while later with two cups of coffee. She accepted one gratefully, John taking a seat and joining in her vigil. They were finally allowed in a bit after one in the morning, when Dr. Stevens came out of the room and nodded to them. Alice hugged him, John shaking his hand as she burst into the room. "He isn't awake, but you're welcome to go in now."

Sherlock still looked deathly pale, and was attached to an array of machines checking everything from his heart rate to the flow of morphine into his arm. Alice set her purse down quietly, kissing his forehead and taking the chair next to his bed. She took his hand gently, running her thumb over the top of his hand. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry about everything. I just… Sherlock, please. I need you. Please, Sherlock, you have to heal for me."

John and Alice stayed there for hours, but John finally had to go. "I'm going to get some sleep and let Mary know he's okay. She's worried, and with the baby-"

"I get it," Alice nodded wearily. She stood, giving him a hug as he walked out of the room. "Be careful getting home, okay?"

"I will. Let me know when he wakes up. And don't forget to sleep yourself. You need it, especially if you're going to be taking care of him. I don't need to tell you that he's a handful."

When John had gone, Alice retreated to her spot, eventually falling asleep holding Sherlock's hand. Early in the morning, just as the sun was rising, she could've sworn that Mary walked in, but when she fully woke, there was no one else in the room. It must have been a nurse. It was still fairly dark, the only noise the steady beeping of machines. So she went back to sleep after checking on Sherlock, who was sleeping peacefully. An hour or so later, she felt his hand shift, Alice waking up instantly.

He opened his eyes slowly, squeezing her hand. In a gravelly voice, Sherlock managed to tell her, "Hi."

"Hi," Alice smiled, relieved that he had finally opened his eyes. "How do you feel?"

"Tired, really tired," he told her, looking around the room. "My stomach hurts, but it's dull. Like I got punched a few times. I guess it's the morphine's fault that I don't quite feel like I've been shot."

She smiled a bit, telling him, "John made sure you got here alright. You… you died on the operating table, and I was so worried…"

He raised a hand to her face, brushing away her tears. "I wouldn't leave you, certainly not with you hating me."

"I don't hate you." She shook her head, telling him, "I know it was you, all of those things in the paper. I stood beside you when your reputation was being destroyed. I waited, for two years, I waited for you to come back. I didn't mind it when it was freezing outside and you didn't let me borrow your coat. I didn't complain when I was slogging through the freezing moors while you sat at home because the case wasn't important enough to you. I was always the one who did damage control whenever you did something stupid. I want to be mad at you, since you're the one person I was supposed to be able to trust with this. Even Mycroft, I wouldn't have put it past him. But what kind of case requires you to betray me like that, to sell everything I've told you to the media vultures? And Magnussen at that?" She paused, sighing, "It's not important. It is, but how can I be mad now? You're alive, and that's what matters." He smiled as she hugged him as best she could. "You know, when I thought we were going to lose you, I had no idea what I would've done without you. It felt like time was standing still in that hall, trying to see into the operating room and make sure you were alive. When they brought you out, when you were still critical… I was just happy you were alive. They say you're going to get better, that you're doing well, but Sherlock, I'm still so worried…"

"I deserve you being mad at me," he told her. "I had to bait Magnussen, but… well, I deserve you being mad."

"Getting shot is all the punishment you'll get for that," she smiled, looking him in the eye. She'd been so afraid that she would never see that stormy, blue-gray color again. "Oh, Sherlock, I'm just glad you're alive."


	22. Chapter 22

Alice woke up the next morning to her phone ringing, which it was doing more and more often lately. Most of the time it was the press, but this time it was a number that she recognized. It was Lestrade, calling to tell her that Sherlock was missing. "I went to visit him and he's gone. They said he hasn't been moved, but he's not in his room. Any ideas?"

"Wait, what?" She sat up in bed, where she'd fallen asleep in her clothes. "He's gone? What do you mean? He was shot less than two days ago, Greg. He can't have gone far."

"That's what we thought too," Lestrade told her, breathing heavily. He was running up the stairs, far too impatient to wait for an elevator. "He hasn't come by Baker Street, has he?"

"No, I... I haven't seen him since last night," Alice told him, running a hand through her hair and getting out of bed. It was 9:47 in the morning, plenty of time for Sherlock to have escaped. She'd left the hospital around midnight, hoping to get a shower and some sleep before she came back. Sherlock had been asleep when she'd left, after a long discussion about what getting shot at close range felt like, and what it had been like to die on the operating table. The hours in between would have given him a chance to escape. He could have been as far as Eastern Europe. "He hasn't come by my flat, anyway. I'll check upstairs and with Mrs. Hudson, but I think he's gone off to one of his spots across the city. That is if he's even left the hospital. Over half of the missing persons in hospitals are still in the building."

"They've checked everywhere," Lestrade assured her. "He isn't here."

Alice immediately had a question, since she could tell that he was moving, and moving quickly. "Then where are you going?"

Lestrade was hesitant, but Alice soon knew why. His answer brought back a flood of memories for the both of them, of a terrible day years before, one that has caused them so much anguish. In a voice that was concealing its breakage, he finally replied, "The roof." She heard a door open and close, Lestrade soon reporting, "There's no one up here either."

Alice let him go, dialing Bill, who was in charge of the Homeless network. He promised that he would have eyes and ears all over the city reporting to him, and they would let her know if anyone found him. That was all she could really do besides check the bolt holes that they had arranged in case something happened. Trying to dial John, Alice took a cab to the first one, finding nothing there and no signs of recent occupation. John wasn't answering his phone - perhaps he was busy at work? - so she left him a couple of messages. It was getting dark by the time she got to the last of the places on her list. All of the others had been unoccupied by humans. A couple of them had mice and some science experiments that had long since getten covered in dust.

The joint homes at 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens were not a real building. They were the facade of a building made as a practical solution to the problems of the early London Underground. When the trains had run on steam, they needed vents, but the tracks running right underneath Leinster Gardens had been built right near homes. So the two houses were made into facades, allowing the trains to vent their steam to the surface. There was still some room in there, and Sherlock used it as a hideout sometimes. But this night was different. Something had been set up here, something that had the dimensions of a projector. Someone had been here recently.

Alice went inside, looking around and flicking on all of the lights in the tiny hall that once was part of a service station. Someone had been here. There was a spent bullet casing on the ground. 9 millimeter. Possibly a Glock, but she couldn't be sure from the barreling grooves. But nevertheless, someone had fired a gun recently, at close range. Even if it wasn't Sherlock, it would most likely lead her to him. The rest of the facade building held nothing of importance, except for a couple of shoe prints that looked like they could've been John's size. Nothing definitive, but it was possible.

Heading back to Baker Street, she tried his mobile phone again. No answer, but it was ringing, which meant that it was on. There was hope, then. The light was on in 221B, but then again, it could have been Mrs. Hudson. She had hunkered down there and kept the search parties going, the flat serving as a base of operations. She had tea and biscuits ready for anyone who arrived with news or looking for a place to take a bit of time off of the search. Chester was up there with her, reveling in the attention he was getting from everyone, but still wondering where the tall man with the coat who fed him sometimes was. Mrs. Hudson was alone, watching the news to see if anything that looked like Sherlock's handiwork was happening. "Any news?"

"Nothing yet," Mrs. Hudson told her. "I heard a noise downstairs a little while ago, but it was nothing. There was some commotion earlier, though. I ran out for more tea and sherry, at the store a few streets down, you know. Mrs. Turner said there was an ambulance around here, but by the time I got back, everything had cleared up. It could have just been a commotion down at the sandwich shop. They're usually busy on Friday nights."

The door opened, the two of them turning to look. Chester jumped up from where he had been napping by the fireplace, going to investigate. It was Bill, the man Sherlock had put in charge of the Homeless Network's operations. "So far we're reporting nothing by Battersea and the West End. I've got Andy headed out to Brixton and Pat across the river in Wandsworth with her brother. We should be hearing from them soon."

"Tea, dear?" Mrs. Hudson offered. Bill accepted gratefully, the landlady heading into the kitchen.

He turned to Alice, admitting, "We have nothing. No idea where he's gone, no idea where he's going. We've checked all of the bolt holes, all of the places he may have gone to, but so far, we have nothing at all. I'm starting to think he isn't in London any more."

"He would only leave the hospital if he had an incredibly valid reason," Alice told him. "He knows that there's the risk of internal bleeding and hemorrhaging if he leaves the hospital. Sherlock's reckless, but he's not stupid. He left for a reason, something he had to get done. Something with a deadline." She paused, pulling the bullet casing she had found from her pocket. "I don't know if this means anything, but I found this in the Leinster Gardens facade. I think something happened there, since it's relatively new. There's a fresh set of footprints there too, so I've got reason to believe John is with him." Her phone began to ring, Alice practically diving over a table to grab it from where it was charging. "Hello?" She listened for a few seconds before hanging up and announcing, "I've got to get back to the hospital. They've found him. Bill, call the others, let them know. I'll call Lestrade on my way."

Lestrade was able to call off his search team as Bill called the members of the Homeless Network, telling them all to meet up at Baker Street for a meal and a break. Alice went back to Saint Bart's, where she found John waiting for her. "What happened? Where did you find him?"

John bit his lip, admitting, "He called me, told me to show up at those facade houses at Leinster Gardens. It was mad, leaving the hospital, but he was already on his way. He proved something to me, let me know who shot him." He paused, looking off in the distance. "My wife was an assassin. She shot my best friend. She nearly killed him."

Mary. It had been Mary all along. Alice knew there was reason not to trust her, and she had been right. But still, the feeling of betrayal was awful. For John, it must have been even worse. Alice knew she would need time to process it, time to put aside the blinding rage and deal with what had happened and what it meant. But for now, she had more important things to tend to. "Is he alright?"

Rubbing his eyes, John told her that, "He's doing better. He was bleeding internally - a massive amount, mind you - when we got back here, but they think he's going to be fine. They want someone to watch him, though, so he doesn't escape again. It's a miracle he didn't bleed out on the way here. Or in the flat, for that matter."

She glanced into the hospital room, where Sherlock was peacefully asleep, back where he belonged. "I'll take over. Go on home, get some rest. I'm sure you've got a lot to sort through." Reading the expression on his face, she offered, "Go over to Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson is still up, giving the Homeless Network tea and the like. She'll let you stay there if you don't want to head home right now."

"Thanks. I think I'll do that." John stood, giving her a hug before heading off to hail a cab. Alice watched him go before heading into the hospital room, where she would be stationed for a while.

In the half-light provided by the moon, she saw that he was resting peacefully, all of the monitors within the stable range. He was pale, but accounting for the massive blood loss, that was a given. She took over the chair next to his bed and held his hand gently, watching over her beloved detective. Sherlock had been through a lot in the last couple of months, and this surely wouldn't make anything better. At least she knew what had propelled him out of the hospital and back into the streets of London.

Visiting hours had just started when he woke up, Alice halfway dozing in her chair. "Good morning, beautiful. I assume you're babysitting me?" Sherlock yawned, waking Alice up. She yawned, running a hand through her hair and looking around.

"I guess I am," she smiled, glad to see that he was doing well enough to be fully conscious. "Do you know how worried we were? Lestrade and I set up an entire search party. Mrs. Hudson had people running in and out of the building, tracking dirt and leaving things everywhere. The entire Homeless Network was mobilized. We had eyes and ears all over London, and you avoided all of them. Thank goodness I couldn't get ahold of Mycroft, or you'd be in even more trouble. I'm sure Lestrade's told him about your grand escape already, though. And thank goodness John had the foresight to call an ambulance. You could have died, Sherlock. Again. You've got to think about this sort of thing."

He simply smiled, not having the energy to give any sort of snarky reply. When she finished her tirade, he told her that he wouldn't be going anywhere soon, promising that he wouldn't run off again. Being shot was bad. Internal bleeding from all of the running around he had been doing was also bad. He wouldn't risk it - and wouldn't risk her scorn and worry - again. They'd been sitting there talking for a bit when Alice's phone began to buzz again. "It's your mu. I've got to take this," she explained, heading for the door. "But if you try anything, I will be the one to kill you." Sherlock nodded, Alice walking out of the room as she said hello.

When she returned, there was someone else sitting in her usual spot, talking to Sherlock. Janine looked up as Alice opened the door. "Sherl, what's your neighbor doing here?"

"I'm keeping him company," Alice answered, looking to Sherlock. "Your mum's invited us for Christmas. And she says to tell you that you are not, under any circumstances, to run off again, or I'm allowed to glue you to your bed."

Sherlock smiled a bit, Janine frowning. "I'm sorry, but I still don't see why they let you in. He's at least kind of still in critical condition, isn't he? I mean, I'm his fiancee. They had to let me -"

"If you're really his fiancee, why haven't I seen you here once in the last two days?" Alice crossed her arms, waiting for an answer. "And why, if you're really his fiancee, is his picture splashed all over the tabloids in the cafeteria, with your name under the headlines, hmm? Oh, I see you've brought some of them with you to shove in his face." She picked up the stack of papers that Janine had brought in, throwing them in the trash.

Janine jumped up, offended. "You have no right-"

"No, you have no right. You have no right to be here, since you were in this for the press. You're just looking for a story. Sure, you may have found him charming at the wedding, but really, what is he to you? You used him like he used you. So don't try and pretend, since I can see right through it. There's no relationship here, there never has been. In fact, you've been seeing someone else. That's not just your perfume, and the makeup color is just a little bit off from what you normally wear. I know she's still alive, you don't have to try to kid me. So really, you're a sad excuse for loyalty, if I could even call it that."

"How… I…" Janine shook her head, offended by all of this. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"My girlfriend." He had never said those words before, never confirmed it to anyone else but her. Even when he told John, it had been more of a "yep, that's a thing" kind of confirmation.

Janine pursed her lips, looking between them. Finally, she wrenched the ring off of her finger and dropped it on the bed, storming off. "Screw you. Both of you." The door slammed, and she was officially out of their lives.

Sherlock gave a small sigh of relief as Alice sat down beside him. "She's finally gone," Alice smiled. "I for one am glad to be rid of her." Sherlock agreed. He twirled the ring in his hands for a few seconds, then looked at Alice, who was perched on the side of the bed. _Do it._ He said nothing, but held the ring Janine had so angrily discarded up, offering it to her. "Are you asking…?" He nodded tentatively. Alice smiled, slipping the ring on her finger. "Yes." She leaned her head on top of his, holding her detective - her fiance - close. She wouldn't let him get away again.

* * *

A.N.: Aww. DID YOU SEE THAT THEY CONFIRMED THE TITLE OF THE FINALE IS GOING TO BE "THE FINAL PROBLEM?!" I am SO excited and I'm ready for more content to write. I'm going mad in my dorm room bc SHERLOCK WILL BE BACK SOON. Plus one of my friends got me this giant blanket of the 221B door. It's perfect. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this. I'm going to be doing LOTS of writing, so I'll have a lot to publish soon! But first, I've got to go back to editing my novel. Yup, I'm writing a novel.


	23. Chapter 23

"Do we have to go?" Sherlock whined, flopping back dramatically onto the bed. He had been like this all morning. Meanwhile, Alice was busily packing, piles of clothes going into the suitcase that she'd set at the foot of the bed. He had been nice enough to avoid knocking them over, at least. "Almost a week in that house, out in the country, I'll go mad."

"It won't be that bad," Alice told him, stacking shirts in the suitcase. "I'll be there. And so will John. And Bill, I think. Your parents invited him too."

"But they'll be there, and they'll want to talk about when I was little and all of that family nostalgia that we don't need. And Mycroft and Lestrade are coming. I hate family holidays." He sat up, watching her pack. "They want us there for dinner tonight, and Mum's going to be making Christmas cookies and Dad will want help with the tree and it will be all of those wholesome things I hate."

"Well, then, we can make gingerbread men that look like murder victims, and I'm sure there are plenty of places to escape to," Alice said absentmindedly, stepping into the bathroom to make sure they'd packed toothbrushes. "You grabbed toothpaste, right? I can't remember if I packed it, or we're just out of it."

"Yes," he groaned, checking his phone before throwing it back on the nightstand and sighing. He rolled over on the bed, telling her that, "Mycroft is on his way there already."

The trip out to the country was fairly uneventful, the two of them staring out of the window for most of the time. When they arrived at the old country home, Sherlock took their suitcase from the cab, saying, "I'd always hated this house. This was where I broke my leg as a kid, where I was stuck all day during the winter, where no one would listen to the fact that I knew who had committed that murder in London, since I was just a child."

The door opened, Mrs. Holmes running out to hug her son. His father followed, beaming. "Sherlock! And Alice, dear, how are you? It's so good to see you, love." They both hugged her too, sweeping them into the house and out of the cold. "Go on upstairs, put your things in Sherlock's old room. I have everything set up there for you two. Mikey and Greg are next to you, in Mikey's old room, and John and Mary are down the hall in the guest room," Mrs. Holmes explained as they walked in. She veered off to the kitchen, where she had been working on preparing Christmas dinner.

"When you're done, come back down to help John and I. We've just started putting the tree up. Running a bit late this year," Mr. Holmes chuckled. Alice promised they would help, heading upstairs with Sherlock, who already looked like he was sick of the holidays. He had been complaining for days that they had to go, and hadn't bothered packing until that morning. Well, he had watched Alice pack his things, only getting up when she asked him to.

She followed him into a room at the end of the hall, which had been turned into a guest room but still retained the qualities it had had when he had been living in it. There was a patch that had been repainted on the wall and an interesting burn mark by the window, which had been painted over but not entirely hidden. One of the floorboards had been replaced, and the closet door had been dented long ago. Sherlock sat their suitcase down, dropping onto the bed as Alice unpacked. "If you look out of the window, you can see into the garden. Mum's been working on it for years. I stopped helping when she refused to let me grow nightshade next to the carrots."

Alice smiled, hanging up a dressing gown. "It couldn't have been all that bad," she thought aloud as she kept unpacking. "You did your first science experiments in here. I mean, you burnt part of the wall pretty well, at least. You started solving crimes here. This is where it all began. You're forgetting all of the good things, Sherlock. Besides, it's almost Christmas. Just relax, take a break from work. Stick with John and I and you'll be fine."

He sighed dramatically, eventually following her downstairs and joining everyone else. Mycroft was typing in a fury, holed up in the corner of the room with his laptop. Mary was reading a book, a mug of hot chocolate next to her. John and Lestrade were busy helping Mr. Holmes with the Christmas tree, carrying boxes of decorations out from a closet and trying to get things in order. Sherlock reluctantly joined them after his mother pulled Alice into the kitchen, where she had put Bill to work already. "It's good to see you, dear," she smiled. "Bill and I are getting as much done as we can today. Besides, Christmas Eve dinner is in a few hours." She glanced at the oven, seeing that it was still preheating. "There's a pile of peppers that need to be chopped over there, if you wouldn't mind, Bill. Good. Alice, dear, I'm halfway through the gingerbread recipe, if you could take over. I've got to give my sister a call and -" She paused, raising an eyebrow at Alice, who had been drying her hands.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have grabbed one of the decorative towels," she apologized, noticing the snowman printed on the towel she was using. "It was by the sink, and I just thought-"

"It's not that, dear." Alice looked down at her hands, realizing that she was still wearing her engagement ring. "When did that happen? Sherlock never told us… he's never been one to share much, but I figured we would know if…"

"About a month ago," Alice admitted, smiling. "I thought he would have said something. Or at least Mycroft would have mentioned it. Lestrade - Greg - asked about it at work, and I was sure he'd have told Mycroft when he got home that day. I'm so sorry Sherlock didn't tell you. I just thought he had said something, or I'd have mentioned it myself." She grabbed a whisk from the kitchen counter, stirring sugar into the bowl she had been given as she talked. "We haven't made any concrete plans yet, what with work and everything, but when we do, I'll make sure you're the first to know. I'm sure he's going to want a small wedding, and that's what's best, at least for the two of us. We still have a lot to figure out."

"Of course," Mrs. Holmes smiled. "You know, I'm glad he has you. You balance him out and keep him right. He," she sighed, leaning on the kitchen counter, "he needs someone to make sure he doesn't fly off into a self-destructive patch. And someone who can keep up with him, someone who knows how fast he thinks and can still understand it. I'm glad he has you." She headed off to call her sister, but the excited, "Tim, guess what!" made Alice smile.

Sure enough, there was a commotion in the living room. "Ugh, Mum!" She could tell that Sherlock wasn't reveling in the attention they were all giving him. His mother had probably grabbed her son, hugging him as she gushed over the news.

"Congratulations, Sherlock! You're lucky to have that girl, you are. She's a saint, especially for someone like you. I'm going to go congratulate that fiancee of yours," his father exclaimed. Sherlock kept complaining, but his father came into the kitchen, looking for Alice. Of course, their engagement was all his parents would talk about for the rest of the day. They peppered the couple with suggestions and stories and advice, which earned sympathetic looks from everyone else, especially during dinner, when they were all gathered together. They had some input for everything - the food, the guest list, the location, Alice's dress (Mrs. Holmes offered to let her borrow hers), everything. Sherlock got bored fairly quickly, and Alice had to sit there, smiling and nodding, as his parents talked and talked about their wedding.

After dinner, they were all busy baking, decorating the tree, and talking in the living room. Mycroft had even taken a break from his work, staring intently at his tiles as he played Scrabble with Bill, Lestrade, and Mary. Mary was winning by a lot, enjoying the looks on the others' faces as they tried to take away her hundred-point lead. John had been the next victim caught in the kitchen, talking to Mrs. Holmes about anything and everything that came to her mind. Sherlock and Alice were helping Mr. Holmes decorate, putting ornaments on the tree and hanging up stockings. "You know, I don't think we've had the entire family together for Christmas in a very long time,' Mr. Holmes observed, looking around the room. "The boys were always off doing something, running about on government business or chasing after criminals. It's nice to have everyone back for once."

"Hmm." Sherlock pulled over a chair, jumping up on it to set the star on top of the Christmas tree. As he lifted his arm to reach, Alice again noticed the pattern of scars tracing across his back. He'd been through so much for all of them, for all of England, that they could never adequately thank him. He'd faced two years of torture for them, he'd been shot, and he'd endured more government and personal scrutiny than nearly anyone else in the country. And here they were, all having a comparatively normal holiday together. Alice twisted the ring on her finger, immensely grateful that he had come back after everything that had happened. "Are you alright?" He'd jumped down from the chair and looked over to her, standing there staring at him, holding a string of lights in her hand.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sorry." Alice went back to stringing lights on the tree, thinking about how lucky they all were. Mycroft and Lestrade had found people to understand their hectic lives. John and Mary had worked out their issues over Sherlock and with each other, which was especially important with a baby on the way. Bill had found a job with Scotland Yard that would still let him work on side projects with the Homeless Network. And she and Sherlock had officially gotten engaged. They'd discussed it after he had gotten out of the hospital and off of the heavy doses of morphine they had been giving him, when Alice was keeping him company all day and making sure he didn't get up and wander off too much.

 _Sherlock had been moved to the sofa, where he spent much of his time. His doctors - John agreeing as well - had told him to limit his activity, which meant spending a lot of time in bed and on the sofa, so he wouldn't start bleeding internally again. Alice would keep him company, watching telly with him as she wrote up reports for Lestrade and consolidated all of the cases Sherlock had ever been involved in, since the records on them were murky at best. She'd often turn to him to clarify a detail. Chester kept them company, realizing that Sherlock wasn't up and walking around too much. She had turned to him during an episode of Doctor Who, asking if he really meant what he had said after he'd been readmitted to the hospital._

 _He was lying on the sofa, Alice typing away when she asked something that she had been thinking about for a while. "Sherlock, when you were… that first day you were back in the hospital, when Janine left… you know, you gave me that ring."_

" _Yes, I remember. And?" He looked over to where she sat, the ring on her finger glimmering in the lamplight._

She bit her lip, asking, " _Did you mean it?"_

" _You know I am in control of my faculties even when I'm on morphine. I've had much worse. Well, much better," he told her, sitting up on the sofa. "Of course I meant it."_

 _She smiled, setting her laptop aside to hug him. "You know I love you."_

" _All the signs are there," he confirmed, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you too."_

And that had been that. They were getting married. They'd mentioned it a few more times since then, but neither of them was in a hurry, especially with the spectre of Magnussen still looming over them. Alice was still cursed at by people on the street. Most of the time it was old women on the Tube, their copies of the newest tabloids in their hands, fanning themselves as they glared at her, calling her a traitor, telling her she should be rotting in prison. And Sherlock was still facing scrutiny on the streets too, his role in her crimes being questioned.

"Let's go for a walk," Sherlock proposed as his father started in on another story about his childhood, this time about how they'd gotten the boys a puppy and they'd nearly knocked over the Christmas tree chasing it around the house. He nearly bolted to the door, grabbing his coat. Alice followed, taking hers as she shrugged at Lestrade, who had looked over from where he was sitting. As soon as they were outside, Sherlock sighed. "They're always like this. That's why I hate coming home, especially for the holidays."

"I'm sorry. They're parents. That's what they do," Alice told him, taking his hand. They turned onto the main road, walking in no particular direction. "It's only for a little while, though. Let them be the overbearing parents you hated as a kid. They're worried about you, Sherlock. I mean, you've just been shot. I'd be worried if I was your mother too."

"I guess." He steered them towards an old bench by the lake that bordered his parents' property. "I've been thinking."

"That's dangerous," Alice smiled, noticing that she could see her breath in the cold night air. "About what?"

"About Magnussen."

"Of course," Alice said, shaking her head as they sat down. "You go on a holiday, and all you can think about is work."

"Not all I can think about," he corrected her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "I do think about you fairly often. But Magnussen is a real threat. He wants me to meet with him, to discuss the, er, measures we need to take to get the information that he has on you, on Mary, on Lady Smallwood."

He had expected her to object, to stop him, to do anything but answer in the way she did. "I'm coming with."

"No. If you go with, you'll compromise everything. He'll see it as revenge instead of bargaining. He's already printed what he has on you. Besides, he'll be fearful that it's retaliation." _And I don't want anything to happen to you. There's no way I'm letting anything happen to you. I'd have to blame myself. And I'm not doing that._

Alice sighed, her breath still visible in the freezing night air. "I know I can't really stop you. But when are you going?"

"In the next few days," Sherlock said, looking up at the stars. "Probably after Christmas, since you'll want me here for that, right? "

"Be careful," Alice warned as they got up again. She took his hand, practically begging him to look out for himself. "Please, Sherlock, be careful. You don't really pay attention, well, you don't care if you're running into a dangerous situation. But I think Magnussen is more dangerous than we give him credit for. You've got to promise me that whenever you go, you'll be careful."

Christmas morning dawned sleepily, Sherlock and Alice making their way downstairs in their pajamas. Lestrade was busy making coffee in the kitchen, Mycroft looking at the news and logging in to his email. Bill got up a few minutes later, emerging from the small guest room on the ground floor and joining Mrs. Holmes in the kitchen, where she had begun to make breakfast. Mr. Holmes was lighting a fire in the fireplace, since it had been terribly cold during the night and the morning forecast didn't look much better. John and Mary joined them soon after, bringing presents downstairs for all of them.

The holiday atmosphere lasted until the afternoon, when Mycroft began griping about the fact that "It's only two o'clock? It's been Christmas for hours already!" He'd been miffed since his mother had put him to work, setting a cutting board full of potatoes on top of his laptop and telling him to make some use of himself if he was going to be taking up space at the kitchen table.

Bill came around with tea and hot chocolate, Mrs. Holmes having made a lot of it in a fit of worry, saying that they would all catch colds if they didn't warm themselves up and, "Tim, what happened to that fire? It's getting even colder outside, and I don't want to freeze."

Alice was sitting next to Sherlock, flipping through one of the many scrapbooks Mrs. Holmes had made of her children. As soon as she took a sip of her hot chocolate, she knew something was wrong. Setting the book aside, she turned to Sherlock. "I don't feel well." She blinked, her eyes already feeling heavier. Realizing what he had done, she started to protest. "Sherlock, I know when I'm being drugged. You... you…"

He caught her as she started to fall, saying, "Sorry. I don't have time to explain, but it had to be today. I love you."


	24. Chapter 24

Alice woke up some hours later, not realizing where she was for a second. She looked around, seeing that it was getting dark out. Had she fallen asleep on the sofa for that long? Sherlock should have woken her up, especially since Mrs. Holmes would want a family picture before Christmas dinner. Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't here. And everyone else was lying on the floor. They'd been drugged. A shout came from the kitchen, an anguished, "My laptop!" Mycroft was awake. "Where is my laptop?"

She stood slowly, stretching and walking into the kitchen, which Mycroft had already started tearing apart. He was currently balancing on a chair, searching on top of the refrigerator and the china cabinets. All he'd found was dust. "Sherlock's got it. He's gone."

"How do you know?" Mycroft jumped down from the chair that he had been standing on, brushing himself off. "Where's he gone? That laptop is a matter of national security."

He'd warned her that he had to go talk to Magnussen, and had promised it was going to be after Christmas. Well, it was close enough for Sherlock. He had grown tired of Christmas and was itching for an adventure. "He's going to use it as a bargaining piece. I think he's gone to find Magnussen. Appledore - Magnussen's house, that's where he's gone. It's not far. We need to get him before he does anything stupid." She glanced out of the window, seeing that it was already nearly dark outside. How long had they been knocked out? "He's probably got a solid head start, but we can get to him before he does any serious damage."

Mycroft made sure Lestrade was awake, giving him instructions to wake the others and then call him. He got into a car to find that Alice was already there waiting. "You're taking me with," she told him matter-of-factly. "You'll need someone to talk to him. Someone who isn't his older brother. I can tell you right now that he's not going to want to listen to you, especially if you call in for backup."

"You'd better be able to make him see this reasonably. He's putting the entire nation in danger. This is treason, Alice," he stressed as he sped along the back roads towards Appledore, Magnussen's home in the countryside. "I've already got an MI6 team ready to meet us there. We're heading for the helipad now."

They scrambled into a helicopter, Alice being pulled in by Mycroft, who directed the pilot towards Appledore as she frantically tried to call Sherlock from the back seat. His mobile rang, but of course, he wasn't answering. They flew through the darkness, finally hovering over the house. An entire MI6 team had been mobilized and was surrounding the house as they arrived.

Magnussen stood on the balcony outside, with John. Sherlock was by the door, watching carefully as Magnussen flicked John's face. Suddenly he snapped, pulling a gun out from his coat and shooting the media mogul in the head. Magnussen fell instantly, Sherlock dropping his gun and raising his hands as the MI6 team moved in on him. Mycroft gave the order not to fire, telling the pilot to land on the grass. He jumped out of the helicopter before they had fully landed, running to give orders to the captain. Alice followed him seconds later, running up to the line of men advancing on Sherlock. She broke through them, wrapping her arms around the detective. Blood. She was covered in blood and bone fragments. Sherlock whispered in her ear, telling her to step away like the MI6 team was instructing her to do. "It's going to be alright. I love you."

She held onto his coat tightly, shaking her head. "Sherlock, what have you done?"

"Go," he urged. "You have to go, or they'll arrest you too. I love you."

Alice let go of him, giving him a final kiss before an MI6 agent pulled her away. "I love you too."

What happened next was a whirlwind of activity. Alice was ushered back into the helicopter, Mycroft giving them the order to fly away. They would make it to the closest jail they could well before the car that had arrested Sherlock would. As they whipped through the frigid night air, Mycroft called his parents, not saying much other than that they should take care of Bill and Mary, and that they would be home very, very late. He also rang Lestrade, who was on the ground in one of the police cars that had arrived at the scene way too late, telling him that he would need to go back and inform the Holmeses about what had happened. At first, he objected, but in the end, Lestrade decided that it would be better to hear the news from him than from Mycroft or Sherlock himself.

When they reached the closest jail, there was a bit of a wait while the first police cars arrived. John was in one of them, and was being processed out of the system as a witness when Sherlock arrived. They weren't allowed to see him, and Alice nervously paced the waiting area while Mycroft made phone calls in an interrogation room. Lestrade stopped by, Alice stopping in her tracks. "He's going to be sent to Pentonville. That's what we do with high-security prisoners. Well, high-risk, in this situation. They've ruled he's a special escape risk. There will be a trial and the like."

"What about bond? Bail?" Alice asked, her voice nearly cracking.

Lestrade shook his head. "They think he's a flight risk, and he's so high-profile that they aren't setting any. I'm sorry, but it looks like they're going to blow this up in the media and make it the new trial of the century." He gave her a hug, adding, "I'm heading back to the Holmes' place. Want to come with?"

"I should stay here," she thought aloud. "Even if they don't let me see him, I'll be here when John gets out." SHe checked her watch, adding, "He should be done soon. I hope they don't decide to keep him overnight."

"Alright," Lestrade sighed, looking at the poor girl. She'd already been through so much for Sherlock, and here he was, dragging her into even more. "Make sure you get something to eat. And if you do stay here overnight, get some decent sleep."

Mycroft emerged from the interrogation room every so often to update heron what was going on, both behind-the-scenes at the jail and in all of the government offices that he was in contact with, trying to secure at least some news about what was going to happen with his brother. They both knew what would happen according to procedure, of course, but in such a high-profile case, rules would be bent and things would have to be different, starting with the media coverage. Reporters were already starting to try to get into the jail. A handful of officers were now stationed at the front door, screening people before they came in. They were diligent enough to even stop the pizza delivery man who was bringing a midnight snack in to the officers who were still processing Sherlock's case.

John was released a little while later, Alice immediately hugging him and asking if he was okay and if he had seen Sherlock. "They're not roughing us up or anything," John promised. "They just took statements and began asking questions - what we were doing there, what was on the laptop that Sherlock wanted to bargain with, stuff like that. I haven't been able to see Sherlock, but he should be fine. It isn't like he hasn't been arrested before."

"It's not like that, John," Alice told him as he walked about the room with her, partially to keep up with the conversation and partially to stretch, since he had been sitting in the same room for hours now. "This is more serious than anything he's been in jail for before. John, this is murder."

"I don't know what to tell you," he shrugged, starting to yawn. "I was letting Magnussen hit me. He's sick - was sick - alright, but Sherlock just snapped. I'd have stopped him if I knew what he was going to do. But he just snapped. And now we're here."

Alice and John had nearly fallen asleep in a couple of chairs when Mycroft emerged from his temporary office, saying that it was time to go home. He roused both of them immediately, Alice jumping up to see what was going on. John was just a second slower, looking around to make sure they weren't in any danger. His military training had kicked relaxed when he realized that nothing was wrong, but was still tense as Mycroft announced, "It's nearly 3 AM. Mum and dad are probably still awake with Greg. They need to know what happened from the people who saw it. Let's go."

They followed him wordlessly, getting into the back of the car that they had raced towards the helipad what seemed like a million years ago. One of the officers on the scene had brought it to the jail for them. Alice was too tired and too fried to object, allowing John to lead her to the car instead of asking about Sherlock. She fell into a fretful sleep in the car, but was instantly awake when they stopped at the Holmes' house. The light was on in the kitchen, five figures huddled around the table. Every other window was dark.

Mycroft turned the car off, stepping out and leading the others into the home. Mrs. Holmes got up and embraced Alice, both of them starting to cry. John went directly to Mary, who had risen in her seat when the door opened. Lestrade went to hug Mycroft, both of them then carrying in chairs for the others. Finally, they began to speak. Mr. Holmes had looked across the table and asked, "What happened, Mikey?"

Mycroft shook his head sadly, telling the story as Bill got up to make another pot of coffee. They had been living on coffee for hours, all of their nerves fried. No one had dared to sleep for too long, just in case more news came. "Magnussen, the man he killed, was flicking John in the face. Sherlock just snapped."

John agreed, taking Mary's hand as he told them all, "He had gone to bargain, to trade Mycroft's laptop for some secrets that Magnussen had. But Magnussen didn't have them. Just like Sherlock doesn't have information - he just knew it. He memorized everything, like Sherlock does. Like you do," he nodded to Alice, "but he had a publishing business, so people would believe it if it was in print. Magnussen played with his mind, made him think that the files he needed were a physical thing. But they were in his head the whole time. Magnussen started to annoy Sherlock, but when he started flicking my face - he was an odd one, but I let him - Sherlock snapped and shot him. No warning, nothing."

"What are they charging him with?" Bill asked, setting down coffee mugs in front of Alice, John, and Mycroft. "These ones aren't drugged, I promise."

"Murder. High treason." Mycroft was blunt, telling them all that, "I'm trying to avoid a public trial. If we're lucky, we'll swing a private one. If we're very lucky, I'll be able to get him on an assignment in Eastern Europe. He's just the agent, and it will… it will be the same type of punishment."

Alice visibly tensed, sharing a look with Lestrade. They were the only two who knew - or at least the only ones who had realized - what that meant. Sherlock was going to die on this mission, and he would die in jail if he was given a trial. There was no way they wouldn't convict a man who had tried to sell practically an entire government database and committed murder in front of dozens of witnesses. Even if he managed to blackmail them all like Moriarty did, there would be a public outcry. On the surface, Magnussen had been a great man, owning a successful publishing company, having many influences in the government, and being an incredibly generous philanthropist. It was only those he blackmailed who knew what he was really like.

They sat around the kitchen table, waiting for something that none of them could put a name on. It was way too late for a call from the government, but Mycroft kept his phone by his side nonetheless. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes kept a vigil at the table, not wanting to leave and go to bed for fear of the phone ringing. Lestrade too had his phone by his side, hoping to hear from the Yard. John and Mary eventually got up and went to bed, but John soon came back, pacing the living room before falling into a restless sleep on one of the sofas. Bill kept getting up to make coffee, make tea, make toast, anything to prevent himself from having to sit still. Alice too remained there, staring at the sliver of the garden that was lit up by the kitchen lights. She could see some stars from her spot at the window too.

One by one, they all got up and went to bed, even if they didn't go to sleep. Ultimately, Alice managed to drag herself up the stairs and into the room that had once been Sherlock's. She tried to sleep, but it was impossible. She could hear Lestrade pacing in the room nextdoor. Mycroft would tell him to sit down every so often, but it was no use. Alice sighed, starting to pace. She didn't want to be with the others and deal with their processing of what had happened, but she also didn't want to be alone and face herself. SHe had watched Sherlock murder someone. Even if Magnussen did deserve it, Sherlock was going to go through hell. And in all likelihood, he was going to die for what he had done. Just as the sun was rising, Alice fell into a fretful sleep, falling on top of the covers and praying that she wouldn't dream.

Sherlock was pacing his cell, thinking of how foolish he had been. Yes, the secrets had all died with Magnussen. Yes, he had protected John. Yes, he had saved Mary, Lady Smallwood, and Alice. Alice. She had already had to deal with him dying once, and with two years of his absence. And murder and high treason would surely lead him to die. She would be put through all of that again, and the press would be even worse, since they were engaged now. Some vulture-like reporter would pick up on it soon enough and would hound her for information, which would open up a tide of reporters all clamoring to get the story. He laid down on his bunk in the jail, cringing. It probably hadn't been cleaned in a very long time, if at all. As the sun was rising, Sherlock finally managed to fall asleep.

* * *

A.N.: Why is it that I always end up back here? I'm supposed to be editing my novel, and yet I'm working on fanfics in anticipation of the next series. I'll go back to writing after I edit this chapter.


	25. Chapter 25

The next afternoon, Alice came downstairs, looking around the room through bleary eyes. Mrs. Holmes was up drinking tea and doing some research on the legal process with Mycroft. Mr. Holmes was busy adding logs to the fireplace, while John, Bill, and Lestrade were holding some kind of meeting in a corner of the living room. Mary had been up in the morning and had gone to take a nap, so they were all trying to keep fairly quiet. Alice went to sit with Mycroft and Mrs. Holmes, who were huddled around the computer that had nearly brought a nation to its knees. "Any word yet?"

"He's been taken down to Pentonville," Mycroft reported, grimacing at how red her eyes were. "I think I've found a way out of a public trial, but you're definitely not going to like it. Come outside with me. Mummy, why don't you have something to eat? All you've had is a bit of toast for breakfast, and that was hours ago."

"Yes, yes, right you are, Mikey," Mrs. Holmes nodded, going off to the kitchen. She was still partially in shock and just beginning to process what had happened and what it would mean for her family. She just stood at the counter for a moment before shaking her head and opening a cabinet, taking out a coffee mug.

Alice grabbed her coat from a hook by the door, following Mycroft into the chilly air outside. They hadn't walked very far when Mycroft lit a cigarette, offering her one before saying, "I've found a way to get him out of a trial. You know he would be sentenced and would go mad in a prison - or escape, which would lead to even more trouble for me. There would be no way around that. There is a mission I can send him on to Eastern Europe, one that would require all of his detective skills. But I'm sure you know what that means."

"He won't come back," Alice had already deduced, speaking up immediately. "You'll send him on this mission with a signed death warrant in his coat pocket."

Mycroft nodded. "He would, in all likelihood, never make it back to England."

"You said it's a choice, right? I assume it's one you're going to make, to sway him one way or the other," Alice said, daring to ask, "Then what are you going to do with him?"

"I've already called him at Pentonville. He's taking the mission to Eastern Europe," Mycroft informed her. "I've told the others that it will be dangerous, but it will be a service to his country that he would be able to use this mission in place of a life sentence, to drop the charges. They don't know what will, in all likelihood, happen."

She nodded, looking over to the garden that had long since frozen over. It took her a few seconds, but Alice got up the nerve to ask him, "When?"

"He leaves on January first." Mycroft dropped his cigarette butt, grinding it into the frozen soil with his heel. "I've pulled a few strings, and they're going to release him on New Year's Eve, to spend his last few hours with you. But it's only on the condition that he remains in your custody the entire time. It's a risk, knowing that you're as close to him as you are. But I've assured the prison that you're able to be trusted. If anything happens to him in that time, you're going to be held accountable, which could mean life in prison."

"Thank you." She didn't have much else to say. She didn't know what else to say, after all. Sherlock was going to be sent to his death in a matter of days. He was locked up, but he'd be with her for a little while longer, at least. "Can we visit him?"

Pentonville Prison in north London wasn't new territory for Alice. She'd been there plenty of times before on cases, either searching for suspects or bringing people to the prison. But that day, the high walls and razor wire fences seemed foreign. The normal receptionist, Merle, said hello to her, but she only managed to wave back. She felt empty, dead inside, like everything up to that point had been a dream. Surely it must have been even worse for Sherlock. But that didn't matter. She would (hopefully) be able to see him soon, after they went through security.

Mycroft waved them through, the receptionist allowing them back into a tunnel that branched into a larger network of tunnels that led underneath the prison towards each area. Mycroft led her down the tunnels, knowing exactly where he was going. They met up with a security guard, who allowed them into an elevator, bringing them up to the maximum security area Another guard asked them for their ID's, but upon seeing Mycroft, he nodded a reverent, "Mr. Holmes." They passed into the cell block, other prisoners jeering at them and calling out for their attention.

Alice paid them no mind, rushing to the last cell on the block where Sherlock was sitting on his bunk, meditating. "Sherlock!" He didn't respond, lost in thought. "Uh, Sherlock? How are you doing?" She sat down outside the bars, knowing that he was lost in his mind palace and would probably not be paying attention for a while. While Mycroft leaned against the wall in boredom, Alice kept talking. "John and Mary are doing well. Your parents are worried, but there's always hope. Lestrade passed along his regards too. Mrs. Hudson says hi, and she tells me that Chester misses you. Ah, what else? Oh, I don't know if Mycroft told you, but they're going to let you come home for a bit before you're sent off to Eastern Europe. I'm not sure about the details, but they're-" Sherlock jumped off of the bed, suddenly coming out of his meditative state.

He lept over to the cell bars, dropping to his knees to embrace Alice, since she hadn't had time to stand. As he hugged her through the bars, he smiled for the first time in days. "You're here." She nodded, Sherlock continuing, "I thought they wouldn't let you back here. Mycroft's called, but he said they wouldn't let you talk and that only barristers-"

"I just lied and said I'm here to represent you," she joked, taking his hand. "Seriously, though, Sherlock, they're going to let you come home as long as you wear an ankle monitor and as long as I'm with you. And before you even ask, no, I'm not helping you trick the monitor. But you'll be able to come home, that's what matters."

"Hey, you there." Alice shuddered, both of them turning to see the man being held diagonally across from Sherlock's cell. Lord Moran was glowering at them from behind the bars, looking slightly older and growing a beard that was rather unbecoming of him, but Lord Moran all the same. "Hello there, Alice. This is where you got me. And now you're letting your idiot boyfriend out. Thanks." He spat towards them, ALice and Sherlock turning away as Mycroft told Moran to be quiet. "Oh, it's not like you can add more time to my sentence. I'll be here for the rest of my life no matter what you do."

When they finally had to leave, Moran started yelling at them again. Sherlock assured Alice that Moran had not shut up for more than twenty minutes since he had gotten there. "It's white noise by this point."

"I'll see you soon," Alice promised, hugging him goodbye through the bars. "I'll try to come back, but I think Mycroft was the one who really got us in here. I'll try to call, I'll try to do something. Even if I have to volunteer to transport someone from the Yard, I'll do everything I can to come back here."

She headed back to Baker Street, since Mycroft had insisted that they pack up their things and head home that day. His parents would be coming to stay with him and Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson met her at the door, Chester trotting close behind. Alice embraced her, saying, "He's coming home for a little while before they send him off. I… we're… we've only got him for a little while longer."

"It's okay, dear." Mrs. Hudson told her, shaking her head. She would have had something motherly to day, but she really had no idea what to tell the girl, whose fiance was destined to die. What was anyone supposed to say in a situation like that? At least they would be getting a little more time with him. It would have been even worse if he had been killed right away in the firefight that was threatening to break out at Magnussen's home. Especially since it would have been in front of her.

The days leading up to Sherlock's release seemed to drag on forever, but eventually, Lestrade drove Alice over to Pentonville, since Sherlock was supposed to be transported to and from the prison in an official police vehicle. However, they went out for lunch as soon as Sherlock was released, since he hadn't had real food in days. Mrs. Hudson nearly screamed when they walked in, Lestrade reminding Sherlock not to take the tracking device off. "They will know, Sherlock. So don't try to fool it." Sherlock nodded, but paid no attention to what Lestrade was saying. He was just glad to be home.

All throughout the evening, Sherlock tried to forget about what was going to happen the next day, how he was going to have to get on a plane and leave them all forever. The next day was going to be filled with meetings and goodbyes, but he already knew which one would be the worst. Just thinking about it made him draw Alice closer, not being able to bear the thought that he would have to leave her again. And this time, it was a lot less likely that he would be coming back. "Sherlock?" she finally asked, seeing that he was zoned out. She switched the television off - they'd been watching some sort of crime drama, predicting who the killer was and how it would be done way before it happened - and turned to look at him. "I'm so sorry. If there was any way I could convince them to let you stay here and work off your sentence, I would, in a heartbeat. I wish there was something I could do."

He shook his head, turning to her to say, "There would be no way. Intellectually, I'm too dangerous for this country. I tried selling government secrets, and I know a lot of them already. I'm too big of a risk to have around at this point. It's only logical that they would want to get rid of me, and use something I'm good at to bring me down. They can just say I died trying to run, or trying to work off my sentence on a government mission. The case file will get sealed up, and in a few years, no one will remember anything that happened."

Alice kissed him, apologizing for the second time. Sherlock pulled her closer, kissing her again. _You have to leave her again. What did she do to deserve this? And yet she's still here. She's always been here, through all of that time. She waited two years for you, and this is what you've done to her. This is going to be your last night with her. You're going to have to leave in less than 24 hours. Forever, this time. She's going to hate you for it, even if she says she doesn't. She's going to hate you for leaving her again._ "You know I love you."

"Obviously," she smiled, kissing her fiance. _I'm going to lose him. I'm really going to lose him, and there's no coming back from this. They won't let him come back, even if he survives the mission. They'll kill him no matter what,_ Silently, Sherlock wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. "I love you too, Sherl-"

Sherlock made a noise that was something between a soft moan and a sigh as she moved onto his lap, closing his eyes for a moment as she moved to straddle his waist. "I… you, ah… do you want to… should we… er, ah... bed?" he asked, his voice suddenly heavier, something she hadn't heard before.

Alice nodded, allowing him to half-carry her. "Bed."

* * *

A.N.: I've stayed up almost all night writing... But oh well, now there's a scandal on Baker Street and I've got to write it. I'm going to get some sleep, but I'll probably be up writing tomorrow.


	26. Chapter 26

A.N.: AAAGH my hands are tied. I've written up to chapter 30, and I need the new series to keep going. I hope you all enjoy the next few chapters, most of which will probably get published before the new year (I'll be publishing one every few days, since I've written so much). I'm craving the next series for so many reasons, and I'm sure I'll go into a writing frenzy as soon as it airs. For now, though, I'm busy scrolling through Tumblr and theorizing.

Also, a big thanks to galwidanatitud, who leaves great reviews on almost every chapter. Thanks for your input! As always, all reviews are appreciated!

* * *

The alarm clock rang too early, at least for them. No matter what, it would have been too early. They had a full day scheduled ahead of them, full of meetings and painful goodbyes - more painful for the people saying them, since Sherlock was not a fan of being dragged around to say his goodbyes, especially to people he didn't care about. But Alice wanted him to go to everything that had been organized, so he did. Sherlock rolled over in bed, looking over at his fiancee. "Did I, uh, last night... erm, was that… alright?"

Alice smiled, pulling the covers up and telling him, "Yeah. I… yeah." She laid her head on his chest for a second, saying, "I love you. God, I love you. I wish we could live in this moment forever, just stay right here and not have to deal with Magnussen or Mycroft or Eastern Europe or any of it ever again." She held him tightly, knowing that their time together was counting down. Sure enough, the alarm went off a moment or two later, forcing them to get up and out of bed. _That's the last time we'll be in the same bed._

As they went about their morning routines, all Alice could think of was the "lasts". _This is the last time you're brushing your teeth at the same sink. The last time you complain that he's left shaving cream all over the sink basin. The last time you make coffee and pour it for the both of you. The last time you watch him put on that old coat and scarf. The last time you walk Chester together. The last time you walk downstairs. The last time you see Mrs. Hudson with him._ Mrs. Hudson herself was the first one to start crying, but by far would not be the last. Alice was already trying not to cry, but Mrs. Hudson did nothing to help her hold her tears in. Mrs. Hudson hugged them both, shedding a few tears as she said, "I can't believe you're leaving. I… be good, dear. You've always done things for the best, and you've done so much for me… I'll take care of Alice, don't worry. I…" The cabbie honked, beckoning them outside. "Goodbye, Sherlock, dear."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson." He took Alice's hand, walking outside into the chilly January air. As they got into the cab, Sherlock looked back at 221 Baker Street and Mrs. Hudson at the door, who was visibly crying now, holding a handkerchief to her eyes. He waved as they drove away, Mrs. Hudson waving back before closing the door. It would be the last time he saw the flat, the last time he drove down Baker Street. But now they were off to Scotland Yard, where Lestrade had organized a goodbye breakfast. He'd invited people from the homeless network, from the fan club that Anderson had organized, and Molly, who had driven over from Saint Bart's. They had all gathered in the Homicide and Violent Crimes Division's offices and the conference room, Anderson bringing in a massive stack of donut boxes. As soon as they walked in, Anderson ran over to Sherlock and hugged him. Sherlock grimaced, but with a look from Alice, he said, "Er, thank you, Anderson."

They all ended up sitting around the conference table, giving to toasts with orange juice that someone had long since spiked. Molly was the first to speak, telling him that, "I've known you for a long time, Sherlock, and no matter how exasperating you are, no matter how often we all sigh and shake our heads, at the end of the day, you're a good man. You've helped so many people, and you've saved so many lives. I… you've helped me so much, and I can't believe you're going away…" She bit her lip, Alice squeezing her hand as she saw Molly start to cry. "I guess, what I'm saying is… good luck and we all love you." She hugged Alice as soon as she sat down, Anderson standing and taking his turn to speak.

He looked around the room, saying, "You've given us hope even in very dark times. Sherlock Holmes, you're one of the greatest human beings that has ever lived. Alice is going to continue your legacy, but we're all going to miss your talents and the inspiration that you've given us all. On behalf of the Empty Hearse, we all thank you. You're a savior in more ways than one, and we promise to uphold your legacy." He finished his somewhat awkward toast and hugged Sherlock again, who grimaced until Alice gave him a look.

Lestrade was the last one to speak, standing slowly as he checked the clock. Mycroft had sent them all the day's schedule, stressing that they had to stay on it or the mission would be running late. That meant plenty of time for travel and plenty of time for unexpected events, but it also meant that they had to time things down to the minute or risk having to deal with Mycroft's wrath. Sherlock leaving a minute or two late wouldn't be a problem for any of them, but it would be a problem explaining it to the government. Mycroft had reminded Lestrade of this before he'd left for work that day, and again when he got there. He'd been texting all morning, trying to coordinate everything. Alice had half a mind to block his number (at least for the day), since she'd gotten nearly a hundred texts about the schedule, starting a little after midnight. Mycroft not sleeping had kept most of the rest of them awake, but "the government" had to do whatever the government needed to do to ensure the success of the mission.

Clearing his throat, Lestrade began to speak solemnly. "The first day I met him, Sherlock was poking around a crime scene in Brighton, saying something about how great it was to have multiple bodies turn up at once. We'd been stumped, but he managed to figure it out based on the location of a banana peel and the ripped thumb of a plastic glove. After that, I knew we had an expert on our hands. Since then, he's solved hundreds of cases, even the ones in our archives that had gone unsolved for years. He'd been cataloging them while he wasn't occupied with current cases. I think the Ricoletti one was what he was about to start before this - that shows he's gone that far back in our annals of crime. He's a detective of unique skills, someone I'd be proud to say I worked with. Sherlock, we're all going to miss your expertise, but most of all, we're all going to miss you. There's no way any of us would be where we are without you, and I can speak for all of Scotland Yard when I say that we're honored to have worked with you and honored to have had you here. As for everyone you're leaving behind, we're going to take care of each other, don't worry. Our division is a family, no matter how divided we may seem to be sometimes. We're all losing a good man, but we're also losing a brother."

There was a round of applause before they all drank, Alice elbowing Sherlock to tell him that they only had a few minutes before they had to be in the cab on the way to visit his parents, Mycroft, and the Watsons. Mycroft had arranged for all of them to meet up and get brunch. He would be driving his parents into London, and Alice was supposed to get Sherlock down to the restaurant while the Watsons took a cab over. They were ushered into the restaurant as soon as they arrived, and were given a table in a separate room that was usually reserved for parties. Mycroft and his parents were already there. As Mycroft checked his watch and texted Mary to see where they were, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes hugged them both, saying how they were grateful that they could see their son one last time. As the Watsons arrived, Mrs. Holmes looked across the table, asking if they'd had a good day so far. "I'm sure everyone was very nice at that party. And you two had a nice New Years', right?"

Alice smiled a bit, Sherlock awkwardly telling her, "Yeah. Uh, oh, is that John? John, come here. Mary, have a seat." He pulled out chairs for both of them, Mary gratefully sitting down. She'd grow extremely pregnant, and hated to walk around or be on her feet for too long. He began talking to them readily as Alice went back to talking to the Holmeses.

Sherlock's mother set down her drink, looking to her sadly. "You know, I was so excited to hear that we would have another Mrs. Holmes soon. I'd have a daughter-in-law… I love Greg dearly, but I'd wanted to have a daughter, or something close…" She shook her head, adding, "You're always welcome to come over, always welcome for any holiday. You're practically a Mrs. Holmes, even if you aren't legally. No matter what, you're always welcome, dear."

"Thank you," Alice smiled, forcing herself to look thankful. All she could think about was the fact that as soon as they finished lunch, they would be driving to a remote airstrip, which would be the last place she ever got to see Sherlock. She turned to him, tapping grabbing his hand under the table and whispering, "I know you're not hungry, but you need to eat something. You've barely touched your food."

"I don't feel like eating," he mumbled back.

"You have to," she instructed, changing her tone to add, "Please? It would make me feel better, knowing that you won't be starving later on. Please." He sighed in assent, taking a few more bites of his food as he talked to John and Mary, Alice not letting go of his hand under the table.

They talked about all sorts of meaningless things, no one wanting to voice the fact that this was more of a last meal than a warm family gathering. No one dared to say anything about Sherlock's imminent departure until Mycroft leaned over to tell him that it was time to say goodbye. Alice stepped outside to let him say his goodbyes, hugging his parents when they left the restaurant. They would be taking a cab to the airstrip, Mycroft and the Watsons following along as MI6 agents took Mr. and Mrs. Holmes back to Mycroft and Lestrade's house, where they would be held until he got back.

On the ride over to the airstrip, Alice leaned her head on Sherlock's shoulder, saying nothing. She wrapped an arm around him, Sherlock doing likewise to her. Finally, he started to talk, telling her that, "Look, Alice, I last night, I… I love you. I'm so sorry we can't get married, that we can't spend the rest of our lives together. I wish… I wish we could have had more time. I wish we could stay together. I wish everything was different. I'm so sorry."

Alice shook her head, just saying, "There's no way we can change it now. I'm just glad they let me have a little bit more time with you." Sherlock kissed the top of her head as she started to cry into his coat. "You know, I'm going to miss you. Even though my refrigerator was always filled with body parts, and the kitchen table was stacked with science projects… I'm going to miss it. I'm going to miss having you run in and tell me about the case you're on, even when it's 3 AM. I'm going to miss you just showing up covered in pig blood, or carrying a box of severed hands. No one else would ever put up with it, but I don't know how I'm going to be able to live any other way."

Sherlock smiled a bit, but sighed as they pulled up to the airstrip, where Mycroft was waiting. Alice went off to stand with him as Sherlock said his goodbyes to the Watsons. "It won't be so bad, you know," he said, shifting his weight on his trademark umbrella as he turned to talk to her. "It's a dangerous mission, but there's still a chance-"

"No," she shook her head, her voice flat. "Look, I know you act like you don't care that much, but I'm his bloody fiancee. What would you do, how would you feel, if that was Greg? What if he was the one being sent off… off to his death? Mycroft, you have to understand, at least on some level." She grabbed his hand, pleading, "You've got to feel something, even if it is only a smidge of pity, or sadness, or something. You're sending your own little brother off to die."

Mycroft looked at her grimly, seeing that she was about to cry again. "How could I not feel bad? But it has to be done."

"You-"

"Alice?" Sherlock had appeared behind her, reaching out for her coat somewhat timidly. "Mycroft, if you'll excuse us. They say I've got five minutes."

Mycroft checked his watch, nodding in confirmation. "Five minutes." He stepped away to talk to John and Mary, who were waiting by one of the cars.

Sherlock pulled Alice a few meters away, hugging her tightly. She smiled a bit, inhaling the scent of his coat - something like old books, smoke, the unique cleaning supplies of a laboratory, and something uniquely Sherlock. _I'm never going to be able to do this again. This is it. He's going away, and this time he's not coming back._ "I really don't know what to tell you," he admitted. "I mean, what is someone supposed to say right now? I just want to keep holding onto you. I…"

"I love you," she blurted out in a voice muffled by his coat. Looking up at him, Alice smiled a bit. "I love you so much. You… you've changed my life so much, Sherlock. I'd probably still be working assassinations and forgeries if it weren't for you. Hell, I'd probably be dead by now. No one lasts long in that life. You've given me some of the best years of my life, and I have no idea how to say goodbye to you. I love you so much. I…"

Sherlock kissed her, his eyes growing misty. "I'm sorry I have to do this. I'm sorry I have to hurt you, babe."

"Babe?" Alice smiled a bit. "Really? After all this time?"

"Of course," Sherlock nodded with a smile, trying to make her feel at least marginally better. "I'm sorry. I love you." He stepped away, admitting, "I always do this. I get involved, and then it ends up hurting people. I should-"

"Don't you dare." Alice took a step forward, wrapping her arms around him again. "Don't you dare tell me that you regret any of this. All of the time we spent together, all of the cases we've solved together, don't you dare tell me that it means nothing to you. Don't you dare tell me that you regret it. I love you, and I always will. And I can read you, Sherlock. I know what-"

"I love you. You know I love you. But I'm sorry that I have to go, that it's going to hurt you. It's been wonderful. I wouldn't have changed anything. I'm sorry we didn't get married - I know you'd have liked that. And last night…" He sighed, pulling her close as he looked over to see Mycroft checking his watch and giving a signal. "I love you. I love you more than anything." Sherlock gave her a final kiss, looking over every detail of her face. He'd imprinted it into his memory long ago, but this was the last time he'd be seeing the real thing, the last time he could feel her lips on his, the last time he could hold her.

As Sherlock let go of her, Mycroft gently took Alice's arm, pulling her into an awkward hug as his brother got on the plane. Alice herself barely felt the pinch of the needle, but grew dizzy as Mycroft let go of her. Just as the plane was taking off, she sat down in the back of one of the MI6 cars, realizing that she had been drugged. The news was on in the back of the car, but as she faded out of consciousness, Alice swore she saw the picture flicker and turn into an image of Moriarty sneering and asking, "Did you miss me?"


	27. Chapter 27

The sun was going down over Baker Street as Alice yawned, sitting up in bed. How long had it been since they'd all been on that tarmac? She remembered talking with Mycroft at the airport, him pulling her away from Sherlock and sticking her with something in a syringe. She'd nearly fallen on him, and had been sitting in the back of one of the MI6 vehicles when Moriarty had appeared on the television screen, asking if the British nation missed him. _Was that real? Moriarty was dead. He couldn't possibly be back. He'd shot himself in the head. You don't come back from that. Molly did the autopsy herself. Moriarty was dead. Right?_

Alice rubbed her eyes, looking around the room in the dimming sunlight. She was in Sherlock's bedroom. Someone had carried her up there and put her in bed. There were voices coming from the living room - Mrs. Hudson was offering someone (Mycroft maybe? Yes, it sounded like Mycroft...) tea. As she reached for her glasses, she saw that the entire bed had been disturbed, not just the side that she woke up on. Had someone slept on the other side, or had she just rolled over in her drugged sleep? The pillows still smelled like Sherlock. _Sherlock. By now he'd probably landed in Eastern Europe. Or maybe he was already on his mission, if it was the next day. Was it still the same day?_ She checked her phone, which someone had plugged in and set on the nightstand. It must have been Mrs. Hudson. She had a message from Lestrade telling her not to come in to work for the next few days. There was also a text from Sherlock, which had arrived the previous afternoon, and one from a few hours later. She had been knocked out for nearly an entire day.

 _I love you. I'm sorry._

 _Goodbye._

He had stopped signing his texts to her with his trademark "SH", since he was sure that she'd saved his number. But now she would never see it again, never see the signature line that made her smile or the notification that Sherlock had sent her a message. She closed her eyes for a second, not wanting to open the message and clear the notification. He was really gone. It had been nearly 24 hours, and Sherlock was definitely in Eastern Europe by now, already fighting for his life. If he was still alive at all. Dropping her phone on the bed, Alice got up to brush her teeth and prepare herself to face whoever was sitting in the living room. It sounded like a couple of people, probably strategizing about what to do now that Sherlock was gone. One of them was Mycroft, and Mrs. Hudson was certainly there. Maybe the Watsons? John's voice carried across the flat. She didn't hear Mary, but her voice was usually softer.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Alice grimaced. She looked half-dead, but it made sense. She'd been knocked out for a while and hadn't had anything to eat or drink. But for now, she just felt sick. Sick that Sherlock was gone and that there was nothing she could do about it. Sick that her stomach was nearly eating itself, and sick that she would never see her dear detective again. Before she opened the bedroom door, Alice took a deep breath, bracing herself for whatever comments people would make and whatever she would have to deal with on the other side of the threshold.

Sure enough, Mycroft and Lestrade were there with the Watsons and Mrs. Hudson. However, there was one unexpected addition, someone she never thought she would see there. He looked over at her as soon as the door opened, smiling even though he looked incredibly tired. No, it was impossible. There was no way he could be there. The eyes were the same, the way his dark hair curled down the back of his neck, the unmistakable cheekbones, everything was as it had been. He hadn't shaved, but he too had probably been knocked out for almost a day. He was sitting there, in his usual spot, wrapped in a dressing gown and holding a cup of tea like it was a normal evening in. Alice opened her mouth to speak, only finding one word to say. "Sherlock?"

He nodded, quickly getting up to embrace her. Alice wrapped her arms around him with gusto, incredibly glad to have him back. However, as he let go of her, she realized that something must have happened to force Mycroft to bring him back. Something incredibly bad. Alice perched on the side of his chair, Sherlock putting an arm around her waist. She turned to face Mycroft, memories flooding back from her last few seconds of consciousness. "I think… I mean, I feel like I remember… Moriarty coming on the screen that was in the back of that car. I know it sounds impossible, but what really happened?"

Mycroft had a grim response. As he took a sip of his tea, Mycroft confirmed her worst fear. "Moriarty's network managed to take control of every television feed in the country for a minute and a half, including those of private government networks, MI5 and 6 included. If England ever needed Sherlock's help, it would be right now."

"What are we going to do?" Alice asked, looking between Mycroft, Lestrade, and Sherlock for an answer. "He can't be back. He shot himself in the head, there's no way he would have survived that. It has to be one of the people in his network who did this. Someone who knows everything that he did, someone who's keeping up with the news and someone who knows the damage they could do with Sherlock out of the picture in Eastern Europe. Lord Moran - he was Moriarty's right-hand man for a long time. If anyone inherited his network, it would be Moran."

"We don't know a lot right now," Mycroft admitted with a sigh. "The government is looking into it. It's a top priority, I assure you."

"She might be right about Moran. He got out of Pentonville recently, didn't he?" Lestrade asked Mycroft, who was shaking his head.

"He escaped on a transfer, but everyone in the country knows what Moran looks like. He couldn't show his face on the street without being discovered. No, it's much more likely that this was done by some sort of hacker or group of hackers that Moriarty paid off before his death. They had just been waiting for an opportunity to release it."

"Moran's escaped?" Sherlock tightened his grip on Alice as her eyes widened, looking between Mycroft and Lestrade to see if this was true. If he had, Moran would be in contact with her soon. Or he would send someone for her, because she knew too much about Moriarty and his network to be allowed to live unchecked any more. "I thought he was in maximum security."

"It'll be okay," Sherlock whispered, Alice leaning onto him. He held her close and promised that, "I won't let anything happen to you. We're going to be fine. He - and whoever hacked the nation's television transmissions - is going to get caught. There's no way that they can't. We're going to get to work on it."

"But not right away," John advised from where he was sitting on the sofa. They both turned to look at him, since he had been silent for so long now. "Alice, you need your rest. You're coming off of something similar to lorazepam, but a bit stronger. You're going to be a little weak and a little dizzy for a bit. Sherlock's going to need to rest too. It's a miracle he isn't dead."

"What do you mean?" She had to ask, even though she had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew.

"He took enough drugs to kill an elephant," Mycroft explained. "He wasn't planning on getting off of that plane alive."

"Sherlock," Alice frowned, putting a hand to his face.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, standing and taking her hand. Addressing the others, he asked, "Do you mind if I talk to my fiancee for a moment?" Mycroft gave his assent, the Watsons and Lestrade not objecting. Alice followed Sherlock into his room, where he closed the door and took a spot by the window. He took a deep breath and began to talk. "I was convinced that I wasn't going to come back here. No one would have bet on Moriarty. I had no idea… I figured it would be better that way. At least you would know that I didn't have to suffer."

Alice took a second to cross the room and stand next to him, wrapping her arms around the exhausted detective. "It's never better that way. Sherlock, I know the drugs are tempting, and you know I don't like it, but this… this isn't just a craving for the drugs, it isn't boredom or… or some sort of habit I can chide you for. I don't even know how…"

"I'm fine," he interrupted her, holding Alice close. "I… it was either that or serve in Eastern Europe. We both know how that would have ended, no matter how long I was there. I'm sorry, I was desperate and-"

"I'd beg you to promise not to do it again, but that wouldn't really change anything," Alice sighed, letting go of him to take his hand and stare out of the window with him. He still looked like he had been through hell, which he probably had. In the last day, he'd had to say goodbye to everyone he knew, nearly overdosed, found out his mortal enemy was making a comeback, and then had to go through withdrawal, all while dealing with Mycroft and his burden of bureaucracy. "I honestly don't know what to say other than… I love you, Sherlock. I'm glad you're back, and that you're okay. And that I'm here for you, no matter what."

"Thank you." He kissed the top of her head, pausing for a moment before confessing that, "There's something we've got to talk about, now that I'm back and that I'm staying, at least for the time being. What happened a few nights ago, what we did… I love you. I really do. You… I feel differently around you than I have with almost anyone else." He refused to meet her eye but continued, Alice listening respectfully. "I love you, and I want you to understand that. But I love you for being brilliant and an incredible person, even when I'm… difficult to be around, to say the least. Not for… well, it isn't bad, but I hardly ever feel like I should… I mean, it was wonderful, but… I don't think, I mean, I don't think I feel attracted to people like that exactly." He mumbled the last few words, but quickly added, "I still love you, and I still want to marry you, but I just… yeah. I'm sorry if I… if it disappoints you or, or anything. I'm sorry."

Alice squeezed his hand, immediately assuring him, "That's fine."

Slightly taken aback, Sherlock just looked at her and blinked. In his (albeit still slightly drug-addled) mind, he had envisioned the conversation being much more difficult. "What? I… really?"

"It's fine. Some people just aren't attracted to other people like that. I love you for being you, Sherlock," she smiled, promising him that, "It's fine. And yes, I still want to marry you. You're one of the most fascinating and entertaining people I've ever met. I'd love to spend my life with you. And I'm not going to give that up. I love you, and I promise I'll respect whatever you want, whatever label you want, whatever you want to do - or don't want to do. Just… just promise you'll talk to me like you are now." Finally meeting his gaze, she had a realization. "Are you being so honest with me because you're still coming down from whatever you were on?"

"Sort of," he admitted with a shrug. "But the drugs make it easier to talk, anyway. Well, easier to be honest. At least with you - with the others, probably not so much. I just thought… you need to know, and something told me to tell you. Maybe it's the drugs, maybe not."

Alice smiled a bit, hugging him and saying, "That's okay. As long as we talk."

After a moment or two, Sherlock let go of her, still incredibly glad that he could hold her again. "We should probably go back out there and face the rest of the world, huh?"

"If you want to," Alice nodded, Sherlock giving her a kiss. "Okay. Let's go."

As soon as they faced the group again, Mycroft began to speak, telling Sherlock that he would be, "on call, as we continue to investigate what's happened. To be completely honest, the government still has no idea what happened, but we're working on it. The official statement was that a cable news network had accidentally released part of a documentary they were putting together on the Moriarty case. It's not the best cover story, but it's what we've got, and it should work for now. We had to do damage control before the BBC picked the story up and before anyone could get out an alternate version or start a mass panic. We have no leads to go off of, and the MI6 cyber team is working as fast as they can on hunting down the IP address this all started from. So far, nothing."

"This is exactly the kind of thing that Sherlock could help with," Alice encouraged, sitting with Sherlock as the others looked to her skeptically. "I know what you're going to say - it'll put us all in danger, or that there's no need to go meddling in an official investigation, since MI6 has it covered anyway. But I'm sure he could help. Who knows how Moriarty and his network operate better than him? And it's got to be better than keeping him locked up in here. Or in Pentonville, for that matter." She turned to John for support.

John nodded in agreement and offered his bit of advice. "I know him. He'll drug Alice and Mrs. Hudson and leave to do some investigating if he's locked up here. Even if there is a guard, they'll get knocked out. And any monitors could easily be fooled. You know your brother, Mycroft. He would investigate this even if it meant knocking out the entire block."

"I am very aware." Mycroft looked grave, but eventually relented, telling Sherlock that they would keep him (and Alice) informed, but he was not to infringe on the official investigation. For now, he was supposed to wait for a lead from MI6. Of course, as soon as everyone had gone home, Sherlock jumped up from his chair and went into his room to find his coat and scarf. "Sherlock, wait." Alice grabbed him by the sleeve as he tried to dash away towards the door. "You're in no shape to go running around London. You probably only woke up a bit before I did, and you've still got half a dozen different drugs coursing through your system. And if that doesn't mean anything to you, I know I'll be sick if I have to get in a cab or… or go dashing about right now." He paused, his hand nearly outstretched, reaching for the doorknob. _You can't leave her. That's what people do for the people they love. They compromise. They give up or push off things that they want to do to help the other person. You need to stay. She needs you to stay._ "Sherlock, please. We're both in no state to go anywhere right now." It seemed like he had been standing there for an eternity before he turned to her and answered.

"Okay. I'm sure we can get a lot done from here," he reasoned, taking his coat off and hanging it back where it belonged, on the hook by the door. Alice laughed a bit, seeing that he had been prepared to leave with his pajamas and dressing gown on under his coat. "There's got to be a lot we can do… I have Mycroft's information and passwords. We can hack in and see what they really know."

"Brilliant," Alice smiled, slightly relieved. At least she could keep him close. As soon as they found a lead, a shred of evidence, anything, he would be off and running, like he always was. But for now, she would be able to keep him here and make sure he went through withdrawal safely. It was some consolation for everything that they would be going through soon.

* * *

A.N.: I am so PUMPED for the next series! I've gotten so desperate to write more that I'm writing out subplot scenes to add to the story later & that I can weave in around the Mofftiss plot we're going to get soon. I can see why Sherlock is addicted to mysteries - the mystery of series 4 is addicting. I'm so ready for it, and I'm tracking every bit of news. Of course, I'm trying not to come up with any solid theories yet... I mean, it does no good to speculate without all of the facts, right? UGH, I can't wait!

Also, I'm supposed to be editing my novel and I'm here writing fanfics.

Also, I'm publishing this a bit early bc I just got my first 50 followers on my Sherlock Instagram ( theredheadedleague ) and I'm celebrating!


	28. Chapter 28

Sherlock was still asleep, Alice lying awake beside him on the bed when her phone began to ring. It was someone she never would have expected, but, considering current events, was one of the better options for an out-of-the-blue phone call. "Hello, Alice, dear."

She rolled over in bed, grabbing her glasses from the nightstand and quietly getting up, going to look out of the window. Baker Street was quiet as she had a whispered conversation. "Irene? How…" She tried to stay quiet, since Sherlock was still sleeping, and waking him would result in a whole conversation that Alice didn't want to have just yet.

"I need to talk to you, _sans_ your pretty detective," the woman instructed with some urgency.

"Ah, okay." She bit her lip, wondering what Irene needed to tell her, and what made it so important and desperately needed.

"I'll send you the address. Get there as soon as you can." Irene hung up, Alice looking over at Sherlock. He was wound up in the blanket, his arm hanging off of the bed as he snored peacefully. She'd let Mrs. Hudson know before she left, since Sherlock would be prone to running off without her. He felt like he'd had a couple of leads the night before, but Alice doubted them. He was seeing patterns and evidence where they didn't really exist. She smiled a bit as he rolled over and let out another snore. It certainly was nice to have him back.

There was a car waiting for her at the door. The driver opened her door, letting her sit down before closing it and retaking his place. "Ms. Adler sent me for you," he told her as they turned off of Baker Street. "She says I'm to get you there safely, and that you're of infinite priority."

"Priority? I don't know why I would be of any…" Alice shook her head, looking out the window. They passed several streets, finally leaving the city. They arrived at a respectable home in the middle of Sussex some time later. Alice thanked the driver, stepping out of the car and looking around at the property. It was a nice house, surrounded by plants. The garden was frosty, but it would be beautiful in the spring.

A young woman came out of the front door, walking up to her with a smile plastered on her face. "Alice, nice to see you again."

"Kate!" Alice gave her a hug, asking, "How are you doing?"

"Lovely. Miss Adler wants to talk to you, and she's made it clear that she wants you to come right back, to talk to her right away. No small talk, she says." Kate turned to lead her, Alice following her around the back of the house and into the back yard, which was surrounded by hedges. A small white gazebo stood in the middle of the garden, Irene sitting there and waiting. Kate walked Alice right up to her, pouring them glasses of water before nodding to them both and heading back into the house.

Irene smiled, taking a sip of her water before saying, "Alice. How nice to see you again."

"You know, everyone seems to surprise me more and more. I had the sneaking suspicion that you would be out here, living with Janine. She certainly didn't deny it. But it still impresses me that you've gotten away with it." Alice crossed her legs, looking over at the woman she had long felt a dangerous rivalry with. Irene Adler was just like her, on one hand - wicked smart and willing to do anything to get what she wanted. But on the other hand, there was a wide gulf between them.

"Everyone's faking their death nowadays," Irene shrugged. "It's the new vogue."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alice smiled, leaning in to ask, "Why did you ask me here? It's clearly something important, and something secret, something that Sherlock can't know about. So what is it?"

"What's the most afraid you've ever been?" Irene asked, leaning towards her. "I mean the sweating and feeling like you're going to vomit, can barely walk or think type of afraid? Well, That's what it's like to be in a room with Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran when they're mad at you. You know, he came to visit me the other day. Seb." She leaned back in her chair, waiting for Alice's reaction.

"Moran's out of prison, I know. He's currently one of the most wanted men in Britain. And yes, I've been in a room like that, but I've always gotten out of there alive. What is this about?"

Irene sighed, looking off at a rose bush, which had largely shed its flowers and its leaves for the winter. The first few days of January had been harsh on it, but a couple of flowers remained. "I'm terrified. I had to give myself up to the government once. And even then, Sherlock ended up saving my ass when they - Moriarty's men - got ahold of me. When Moran showed up, I would have bet anything that he was coming to put a bullet in my head. But he just talked. I… I could have sworn that I was going to die."

"What did he tell you?"

"He warned me," Irene corrected. "He warned me that if I did anything to investigate, if I did anything to stop him or the others - that's exactly what he said, 'the others', no names - he would be back before I could get away. He would kill Kate and Janine, and I'd be dead within the hour." She took a breath, adding, almost as an afterthought, "I thought I should warn you, and your precious detective, that he'll be coming to talk to you soon too. I don't know if he'll really be talking, or if he'll be waving a gun around and screaming, like he did out here. I just thought you deserved a warning, after all you've done for me."

"He threatened you?"

Irene nodded. "He's going to find you too. He had a list. I saw him checking off my name. He's going to you and Sherlock, to the DI in charge of Homicides, to a few other people. He's going to walk right into Scotland Yard, threaten a Detective Inspector, and I promise you, he's going to walk right out the front doors."

"Why warn me?" Alice was suspicious of Irene, even now. She knew The Woman wasn't a threat, but she still felt some sort of antagonism towards her. Even if it was just professional, she didn't trust her, and she certainly wasn't too fond of her. "I mean, if he came to threaten you, why warn me? We're hardly friends."

"No, no, no, dear, I'm not that fond of you either. But, if I'm completely honest, you and your Sherlock are our last hope to take on Moriarty's network. I mean, I could try, but you two really are the only ones who stand a chance against him," she admitted. Irene sighed again, reminding her that, "You're brilliant and you've known Moriarty for longer than I have. He was my agent. He was practically your brother. If anyone knows enough to make sure he's done for good, it's going to be you. So I have to help, even if it's just to save my own skin."

As soon as Alice walked through the Baker Street door, Sherlock called out for her. He bounded down the stairs in his dressing gown, running up to her with his laptop. "I've got it. I figured it out. It's taken so long - years, off and on - but I finally got it!"

"That's great," Alice smiled, setting her purse down as Chester ran up to her. She shed her coat while asking, "What did you figure out?"

"The Ricoletti case," Sherlock beamed, dropping into his chair as Alice set her shoes by the door.

"You're going to have to refresh me on that one," she admitted as she moved to refill Chester's water bowl. "That's the dead woman who somehow shot her husband, right?"

Sherlock nodded as he pulled up copies of old newspaper articles to show her. "Emilia Ricoletti was a woman who got married while she was dying of tuberculosis, back in the late 1800s. She killed herself, thinking she was about to die anyway. But then she shot her husband as he was leaving an opium den. The body was positively identified as Emilia Ricoletti, double-checked by her relatives. There was no way that she could have killed her husband, and yet, it happened. Then the bride returned, killing other men. She even went after a Sir Eustace Carmichael, a rather important figure at the time. Stabbed him to death." He showed her the front-page article, the date on the corner of the newspaper reading "1895".

"Change in the MO," Alice noted as she sat down next to him. "She killed herself, but it seemed like she was still alive. Okay, go on."

"It was a group, most likely part of the women's rights movement. All of the men who died had been MP's or men who were important in the community, and all of them were trying to stop women from voting or working outside of their homes."

"So there was a body double, and they killed themselves to let Emilia kill her husband herself. She was dying anyway," Alice deduced. "They killed her right after, shot her like the one who shot herself did, so they could swap the bodies. She knew she was going to die, so she decided to do it on her own terms, right? Wait, Sherlock, is this really about Emilia Ricoletti?"

"Yes. Why would you say otherwise?"

"Someone kills themselves, shoots themselves in the head even, and then goes on to kill other people, as if they were still alive. It turns out to be an entire network, with lots of people who sacrificed themselves for the cause," Alice summed up, trying to gauge his reaction. She began making a series of deductions, talking faster and faster. "Doesn't that sound a little… familiar? Like the Moriarty kind of familiar? I think you're reasoning out how he did it. I know this was a real case, but you solving it means - you think it means, anyway - that you're more certain about how Moriarty did it. Sure, it's important, but you're using Emilia Ricoletti as a projection of Moriarty. And sure, he could have done it like that, but it's also possible that he did something else. We'll probably never really know, and even if we do, we won't know all of it."

"You are good," Sherlock sighed, closing his laptop. "At first, I found it as a distraction. But the similarities are startling."

"Mhmm," Alice nodded skeptically, taking the laptop from him. She opened her email, finding a message from that morning. Lestrade had sent her an update, which had been forwarded to him from Mycroft. "Here, you ought to read this. It came in a little while ago."

 _UPDATE: The Moriarty case file has officially been reopened as of 07:24 hours. All investigative measures will be channeled through the Homicide and Violent Crimes Division of Scotland Yard and the appropriate MI5 and MI6 offices, as the Moriarty Network extends beyond the borders of the United Kingdom. While all efforts will be made to ensure the safety and security of said personnel, personal safety is not guaranteed. Security has been increased around high-level officials and members of the Royal Family. Further information to follow._

"I guess it's official," Alice told him as he finished reading. "I've got to report to Lestrade in a couple of hours for another briefing. The entire government is panicking, and Lestrade says it's no better with the higher-ups. Apparently Buckingham Palace and Downing Street are practically under lockdown. No one knows anything, and it's terrifying the nation."

"I'll come with you," Sherlock offered, ready to leave the flat. "Lestrade is out of his depth."

"Isn't he usually?" Alice smiled, thinking of how often she or Sherlock would be pulled into Lestrade's office to answer a question. They had gotten involved with several of the Detective Inspector's cases, even the ones that Alice hadn't been assigned to. She'd just pop in to check up on another detective, but would end up solving the case much quicker than anyone else in the department could.

Sherlock was in Lestrade's office going over the Moriarty file when Alice walked into her office, flicked on the lights, and turned her computer on. Immediately, a file popped up. Someone had left it open, waiting for her. It was a video. Sebastian Moran was onscreen, smiling like a shark. "Hello there, Alice, dear." He looked right into her eyes, as if they were actually having a face-to-face conversation. "Yes, I've been in your office. But I've just popped down to leave you this, nothing's trapped or wired up. I just wanted to let you know that if you look into this any further, if you do anything that could even remotely be seen as investigating the matter, I will come after you. And your precious detective. You have him well trained, but you had better keep him on a short leash. If he gets involved, he will be taken care of, I can promise you that." Moran smiled again, pausing for a second. "I always liked you, you know. You were a nice person, you really were. As nice as you could be in our field. So I'm going to give you a break. Go on, marry your detective, live a happy life solving crimes together. Just stay away from this case, and any other one that I may pass along with a red flag. I'll let you two live if you stay away from this. Otherwise, I'll have to ruin everything, and I really don't want to have to do that to you." The screen went black just as Sherlock walked into the room, Alice quickly switching screens back over to her email inbox.

"Lestrade's found nothing, and he's had a dozen people comb through the tape of the broadcast," he reported, dropping into the chair across from her desk. Looking around the room, Sherlock noted, "Nice place you have here. I like the photography." He nodded towards the corkboard that took up the majority of one wall, where photos of several dismembered bodies had been pinned up. "I never knew you had an actual office."

"If you'd paid attention when I told you I got promoted, you'd have learned I'd gotten my own office," Alice quipped, typing out an email to Mycroft. She spun to look at him, smiling. "Sorry, your brother's being an arse again."

"Like always."

"Like always," Alice confirmed, glancing at the bottom of her screen, which read: FILE WILL AUTOMATICALLY DELETE IN 10 SECONDS. Good. It would be taken care of, and no remnants of Moran's threat would be on her computer. Even if someone combed through it, all traces of the file would be gone. "So there are no clues at all? Nothing? They must have found something by now, it's been days. No trace of a location it originated from? No signature film work?"

Sherlock shook his head, playing with the things on her desk as she worked. "Nothing at all. No location, no film techniques specific to a certain studio, no slips in filming that reveal anything in the background, no trace shadows. It has to be something done by Moriarty's network itself. It looks similar to his previous film work. I've got to get to work on this, because the rest of Scotland Yard is operating on the intellectual level of a frog."

"You can't." Sherlock raised an eyebrow, Alice quickly covering for herself. "You can't say that. I mean, I'm part of Scotland Yard."

He broke into a smile, correcting himself. "Most of Scotland Yard, then. But we really do need to work on this. It's only going to get worse from here, especially if we don't use the time he's taking to make his next move to find out everything we can before he acts."

"You're sure? I mean, you're sure there's a case here, and not just someone messing with us?"

"Even if someone is messing with us, they have good enough skills to pose a real danger. If they can hack every TV network and the encrypted government channels, there's something there. Potential for something bad."

"And you're prepared to investigate this?" Alice asked, already knowing that he would be. There was no way to persuade him otherwise. Moriarty was one of the biggest challenges he'd ever been presented with. He wouldn't give this up for anything. "No matter what happens?"

"You mean it's dangerous and you want me to think about it? I'm sure you're perceptive enough to know that I have to do this. And I hope you'll help me."

In that brief second, Alice made her decision. Yes, Moran had just threatened their lives. Yes, it was going to be dangerous. But if they didn't look into the case, Moran would threaten the entire British nation, if not the entire world. So many more people would be in danger than just the two of them if they chose to do nothing. The risk would be worth it. "Of course."

* * *

A.N.: Thank you all so much for your support! You mean so much to me, and your comments are great! I love getting the email notification that says someone has left a review, because they are always thoughtful and constructive. Also, thank you for over 100 followers on theredheadedleague on Instagram. Your support means so, SO much!

Okay, so here's where I get serious. This is probably the last chapter I'm going to publish before THE day... when we all cry over The Six Thatchers (TST). I have a few chapters left until I get to TST material, so I won't be publishing anything that cold give away spoilers for a little while. Plus, if a lot of time has passed between when HLV ended and TST starts, there will be a few more chapters before TST material. But we all have to wait on Moftiss to tell us. I'm going to have a lot of writing to do, plus I'll be going back to university, so I may not be publishing chapters as fast as I have been (since I write a lot of these in advance). But I'll try to update at least once a week. I'm so excited for TST, though. So here we go.


	29. Chapter 29

"Moriarty!" Sherlock bolted up in bed, Alice grabbing his arm as she woke up again. This was the third time that night, and it was only 2 AM. "Moriarty! He was.. oh. Damn, this again. Sorry. Alice, I'm sorry."

"It's just a dream, Sherlock." She sat up, swinging a curtain of red hair over her shoulders. "It's only a dream," she repeated as he looked around the bedroom, alarmed. "Relax, it's not real. It was only a dream." He looked over to her in the moonlight that streamed through their curtains, Alice wrapping her arms around him. "Are you crying?"

"No, no." He wiped at his face, ashamed of having the same dream yet again. It was always the same - he would go through the fall, Serbia, everything, but then he would get back to England and Moriarty would be there, waiting. Waiting for him back in 221B with Alice, with John, with Molly, with Mrs. Hudson. He would execute them one by one, and Sherlock wouldn't be able to do anything. He'd be frozen at the door, forced to watch and forced to wait, to do nothing. All of them would call out for help, plead for their lives. All of them would die, and he could do nothing, no matter how many times he tried to stop Moriarty. "I'm sorry. I… I don't mean to keep waking you up, it's just…"

"It's fine." She kissed his cheek, lying back down as he dramatically dropped back into his spot. He would have this dream a few times a night and wake up in terror. Even more than that, he would wake up just to check and see if she was still there. She'd feel him roll over in his sleep, reach out for her, and roll back over as soon as his fingertips touched her shoulder or brushed her hair, as if to just make sure that she was there and then leave her be. And of course, there were the times when he would jump halfway out of bed in panic. She would be woken up by him yelling, or by the sudden change of weight distribution on the bed. Then she would have to deal with whatever he had dreamed about. It wasn't easy, but it was Sherlock. He'd been having dreams like this since he'd gotten back, but they'd died down until Magnussen. Now Magnussen would appear in them too, and they happened more and more frequently. There was nothing that he could do to stop them. Not even drugs would work.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as he wrapped an arm around her. "I really am. I don't mean to-"

Alice yawned again, leaning into him. She wrapped an arm around his stomach, saying, "I know. It's okay."

"No, it wakes you up, you haven't slept properly in a while. I... I'll move out to the sofa if you want. You deserve to sleep, not put up with me," he offered.

Alice sat up to look at him. "Then I'm absolutely not leaving. I know it makes you feel at least marginally better, having me here. Even if I can't fix it, I can help somehow. And even if I never get a full night's sleep again, I'm staying here with you." She glanced at the alarm clock by the side of the bed, smiling and adding, "Happy birthday, Sherlock."

"What?"he yawned, running a hand through his curls.

"It's after midnight, silly. Happy birthday, Sherlock." She laid her head on his chest, Sherlock smiling a bit.

"Oh, er, thank you."

"Try to get some sleep. Maybe we'll go out for breakfast or something," Alice offered. Sherlock was already half asleep, but he mumbled some sort of reply before letting out a snore. Alice smiled, laying her head on his chest and closing her eyes.

 _Sherlock stepped back into his Baker Street rooms, immediately reaching for his favorite pipe. "I wish you would give that up," Alice frowned, spinning around in her chair to look at him. She was waiting there with a few of the ladies from town. Dr. Hooper had been waiting for him, but had joined them at their table, and was busily pouring tea. Alice stood to greet him, giving him a kiss before saying, "Mrs. Hudson's had the ladies over, and Dr. Hooper's just joined us. There's a fresh corpse for you down at the morgue. I wish you would try to be home in time for dinner, though."_

" _Has Watson come over yet, or is he still down in his surgery?" Sherlock asked her._

 _Alice shook her head. "Dr. Watson's been out all day. Mary was here, but then she ran down to do some shopping a little while ago. I'll ask her if she's seen him when she gets back."_

 _Sherlock went back to his reading as the rest of the crowd talked, but soon closed the newspaper, checked his pocket watch, and came back to where the others were sitting and gossiping. He stood behind Alice, waiting for the conversation to die down before asking a favor. "May I borrow my wife for a moment?"_

" _Of course," Alice smiled, setting her teacup down and following him out into the hall. As soon as he closed the door behind them, she let out a sigh. "They aren't all bad, but some of them are downright insufferable. I wish I could just go to the morgue sometimes, work with you. Actually use my brain for once."_

" _I know," Sherlock nodded sympathetically. "Maybe, in a different time, but it's 1895, dear. Women stay in, entertain the important people. The Lannisters, for example - Mrs. Edna Lannister, I think your friend's name is - they have three MPs in the family. And you know I don't impress people."_

" _You impress me," Alice smiled. "Listen, if you're still there when the ladies leave, I'm coming down to the morgue. I'll send a telegraph, or, hah, I'll use the building's new telephone! Mrs. Hudson's been nervous about trying it out, but I think it's going to be a great investment."_

 _Sherlock smiled back, squeezing her hand. "I know you love these mysteries as much as I do, but you simply cannot be seen… cavorting about the morgue. People would talk."_

" _If I was bringing you dinner, or, or if you'd forgotten something-"_

" _I don't forget things."_

 _She pursed her lips, counting things out on her fingers. "My birthday. Our anniversary. Christmas. The scheduled time to see Dr. Watson and his wife for lunch, the lunch we have together with them every week. Your own birthday, for goodness' sake."_

" _Hmm, I see. Mayhaps." He took a step back, telling her, "I need to grab my coat, and you need to get back to your sewing circle, or your tea or whatever it is you've got going on back in there."_

" _Fine," Alice sighed, giving him a kiss as they walked back into their flat. She sat down amongst the women who had been eagerly gossiping while she was gone. Dr. Hooper joined Sherlock as they headed down to the morgue to look into a fresh body. It wouldn't be long before Alice joined them._

" _Sherlock," she nodded, walking into the room unescorted. "Dr. Hooper."_

 _They both nodded to her, Sherlock looking over to ask, "Are they all gone?"_

" _Thank goodness," Alice nodded, striding over to the corpse. "Oh, it's Emilia Ricoletti. I remember hearing about her wedding just a little while ago. All of the ladies were twittering about it. Did she really attack her husband? And the other people in the street? We've all heard about it."_

 _Sherlock looked slightly bewildered - obviously, he hadn't been in on the gossip of the day. "What else do you know?"_

 _Alice stepped forward, examining the body. "Single gunshot wound through the skull, close contact. Looks like a revolver. Nasty stuff, but simply fascinating, if I'm allowed to be a bit morbid." She looked over the wound in astonishment as she continued, "She was dying anyway, from consumption. It wouldn't have been much more than a few months, I think. She hasn't traveled much, but she did move from the Continent as a child. She's relatively good at sewing, but seems like a terrible cook. Ah, well, at least Mr. Ricoletti had a chef. I'd say she'd been on her feet all day, and she's come here by train, obviously not in the bridal dress, since she would be too noticeable, so she must have left her things somewhere. Scotland Yard needs to scour the area, pick them up for more clues." She looked at the woman's hands, flipping one of them over and dropping it back onto the examination table. "She's right-handed, but had multiple weapons, as evidenced by the gunpowder and ash on both hands, instead of just her dominant one. Want anything else?"_

" _That's… you never mentioned that she was like you," Dr. Hooper said, looking to Sherlock in astonishment._

" _That's why I married her," he smiled, looking back at Alice adoringly. "She'll assist on a lot of cases, if only in the background. It's not like she can hide and operate as a detective in broad daylight. My dear Alice doesn't have the pleasure of hiding from most of the world in an underground laboratory, working away with the assent of the few people who know about her work, now does she?"_

 _Dr. Hooper took a deep breath, regarding them both before giving a measured reply. "Of course not. It would be greatly indecorous for a woman to do that, even in this day and age."_

 _Alice shared a knowing glance with the doctor, saying, "I've got to run. Mrs. Hudson is expecting me back. She needs my help cleaning up and getting things ready for her bridge club tomorrow. She's quite taken with the game, you know. The poor dear would be devastated if I stayed out too long, since he's spent all of her time helping me reorganize 221B, so I do owe her a favor. I will have to see you later, dear." She kissed Sherlock's cheek, heading for the door. "Good day, Dr. Hooper."_

 _Sherlock met up with Dr. Watson before dinner, bidding him goodbye as they went their separate ways, splitting near Baker Street. Dr. Watson had to head back home, since his wife was expecting him back for dinner. Sherlock would be heading to see Alice, who, hopefully, would have finished helping Mrs. Hudson clean up by then. As he went up the stairs, he could hear voices talking in 221B. An accent that was unmistakable. He sprinted up the rest of the flight, slamming the door open in alarm. It was too late. Paralyzed again, he stood there helplessly as Moriarty taunted Alice, waving a pistol in the air._

 _She glanced over to him, but her eyes flicked almost immediately back to Moriarty, who was going on a deranged rant about how she deserved to be killed, since she had helped Sherlock so much. Wait, she was blinking out something. An S.O.S. signal. Sherlock tried to move, but was stuck in place, as if some invisible force was holding him back. He couldn't even blink in response. "Well, then, dearie, I hope you enjoyed your time with our precious little detective friend. I know he can be sooooo difficult to deal with. But lucky for me, you're not!" Moriarty cackled, firing his gun, shooting her straight in the temple. Blood splattered all over her dress, the green one she'd bought one day while dragging him though several shops. He'd been bored, and had been observing all of the pickpockets and knaves in his network of Irregulars going about their daily business. They would slyly tip their hats or nod to him, Sherlock sliding them a few coins as they passed by. He had hated it at the time, but now he would give anything to be back there, trapped in that one sunny day for the rest of his life. All he could hear was the echo of the gunshot._

"Alice!" Sherlock bolted up in bed again, grabbing her arm, Alice sitting up and checking the clock. 5:19 in the morning. He'd been asleep for a while. This was probably the most he'd slept without waking himself up in days. "Oh Lord… I'm sorry. I… I'm going to sleep on the couch." As he tried to stand, Alice grabbed the blanket that he had wrapped around himself. Sherlock fell back onto the bed.

"No. Sherlock, listen to me. If you go out there, I'll follow you. You need someone there, even if you don't think you do. I know you think you can handle a lot of things, but… you need someone. And I want to help you. I at least want to be with you. I'll stay, no matter what. Here," she let go of him, standing, pulling her hair back, and putting on her glasses. Alice grabbed her dressing gown, wrapping it around herself as Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Let's go make some tea. Neither of us is going to be able to go back to sleep right now, or any time soon."

Sherlock shrugged, following her out to the kitchen after wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. Chester was asleep on the floor mat in front of the sink, running in his sleep. As Alice set the kettle to boil, Sherlock leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her every move. She was alright. She was safe. She was humming to herself as she went to fetch two mugs from the cabinet. Everything was okay.

 _Do you know how lucky you are? She's put up with you being gone for two years, with you running off at every sign of an interesting crime. She's dealt with all of the criminals and all of the clients that have set foot in here. She's even willing to marry you, even though you've never been the marrying kind. But you chose her. You chose to stay with her, and she chooses to stay with you every day. She puts up with so much, from the Yard, from the press, and hen there's you. You're lucky you haven't driven her away. You are incredibly lucky to have her. Don't you dare mess this up. You'll never forgive yourself if you do. You're an asshat, and everyone knows it. She knows it. And yet she stays. She loves you. Don't mess this up. Don't mess this up. Don't mess this up._

"Sherlock?" Alice was standing there looking at him, slightly puzzled. "Are you zoned out or -"

He shook his head, looking back to her and coming back to reality. "I'm fine. Fine."

She filled up the mugs with hot water as the kettle finished boiling. Offering him one, Alice took the chance to ask, "So do you want to talk about it? Everything you've been dreaming? You keep waking up in the middle of the night, having these nightmares that sound like they scare the hell out of you. And I know you wake up sometimes just to check and see if I'm still there. But you never tell me what you're dreaming about, just that Moriarty or Magnussen is there. What do they do that scares you so much?"

He took a sip of his tea, stalling his answer. Alice waited patiently, sure that he would tell her eventually, like he always did. "Moriarty… it always comes back to Moriarty, even when it's Magnussen. But most of the time, he's got you, or John, or… this is stupid. I've got to stop."

"No it isn't," she assured him, squeezing his hand. "Moriarty. Go on."

Sherlock looked away, continuing, "He kills you, and I can't do anything. I have to watch it, and I know every time I close my eyes, that's what I'm going to see. I try not to sleep, but that never works. Besides, you need sleep, and I know you prefer having me nearby. I just… I need-"

"No." She already knew where he was going with this. "You can't."

"You didn't even know what I was going to say," he objected as Alice crossed her arms.

"You were going to say heroin. Or cocaine. Or something else just like it. That's what you always fall back on. I know you, Sherlock, I know your patterns, I know what you run to, even if you don't like me knowing, or if you like to think I don't know when you're itching for a fix. I know what you do. I know how to read people, you included. And Mycroft's warned me to keep an eye on you, especially now that Moriarty's back, or at least this network's surfaced again. Sherlock-"

"Are you alright?" He had that look on his face like he had suddenly realized something, but Alice had no idea what. "You look exhausted. I know you're tired out from the last few days, but you look… different."

"I'm fine. If anything, I'm getting sick of you trying to change the subject. Finish your tea, and then we're going back to bed." As she turned to rinse out the mug she had been drinking from, Sherlock was busy thinking. Something felt different. He just couldn't manage to figure out what.

* * *

A.N.: I AM SHOOK. I called a lot of that episode, but I am still shook. I have so much material to work with now, and we've got two more episodes to go! Agh, the game is back on (even though it was never really over) and I'm loving it! I hope you all get to see The Six Thatchers soon. It's great, and I can't wait to see what Moftiss have in store for us next. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the bit of foreshadowing for the big reveal in the next. Oh, it's good to be 221back!


	30. Chapter 30

The next morning, Alice was in the kitchen making coffee when Sherlock walked in, his hair still dripping with water from the shower. He had deep dark circles under his eyes, since he had gotten a total of three or four hours of sleep that night. "Are you going to put real clothes on, or are you going to walk about in your pajamas and dressing gown all day?" she asked, opening the refrigerator. "Butter is behind the jar of eyeballs, right?"

He yawned and ruffled his hair, saying, "Right. I'll change, if you want."

"Well, I've got to go into work today. You're welcome to join me, since I know you've got a long day of doing nothing planned. I've got a triple homicide by crowbar. And get this - they all share the same birthday," she offered, rooting around in the fridge. "And they've all got foreign passports, each of them traveled to the States in the last six months. Interesting, huh? I'm thinking - " She closed the refrigerator, looking around. "Er, Sherlock?"

"I'm in here," he called from the bedroom. Alice looked in to see him buttoning up his shirt, already nearly ready to go to Scotland Yard. "If Lestrade hears anything about this case, I want to be the first to know."

"Why do I get the feeling that this isn't about my case?" Alice rolled her eyes and went back to what she had been doing. "You know you'll have to wait for me, right? I'm going to make you breakfast, and you'd better eat if you're going to be running around trying to find evidence."

"The video techs are too slow and terrible at their jobs. I would have had something by now. But Mycroft has to be the one running everything," he grumbled, running a hand through his hair and watching Alice cook. "I want to look through the evidence myself."

"You've already been through it. Twelve times," she reminded him, deftly flipping an omelet in the pan. Alice turned towards him to add, "Lestrade's going to think you've gone mad. Do you want mushrooms in yours?"

"He already thinks that, along with half of the rest of Scotland Yard." After a very stressful few minutes of Alice getting ready after breakfast, they set off for the Scotland Yard building together. Sherlock had been buzzing about while Alice was trying to get ready, asking when they would be leaving, why they weren't leaving now, and how exactly she managed to put on eyeliner without stabbing herself in the eye. He was glad to get on the road, and frankly, so was Alice. At least he would be pestering someone else.

As their cab turned onto Dacre Street and stopped outside of the entrance to Scotland Yard, Sherlock looked over at his fiancee. Something felt off. Maybe it was the series of sleepless nights and stressful days that she had been suffering through. Maybe it was dealing with him all of the time. Or maybe it was something completely different. Alice did indeed feel off, but then again, she hadn't slept properly since they'd gotten back from that air strip. She'd been drugged and her systems had been off, but that was probably from a combination of the drugs and the weird schedule that Sherlock was now keeping them both on. They paid the cabbie, Alice signing in as the normal crowd said hello. Sherlock just followed her, observing everyone like he usually did. Greetings were troublesome at best. Alice found him a visitor's badge, something that he almost always refused to pick up when he visited the Yard, since he was there so often (and since he thought himself above such trivial things like that).

She led him down the hall to her office, turning to say, "I've got about thirty minutes worth of emails to sift through, and then I've got to pull up the mainframe database and see what's been added in the last day or so. My case has been through forensics, and the autopsy reports should be in soon, if they aren't already. It looks like Lestrade's in, though, if you want to bug him about Moriarty."

"Right." Just as Alice unlocked her office door, Sherlock grabbed her arm, realizing something. He lowered his voice, just in case anyone walked by, or in case someone was listening in from the cubicles nearby. "Does it seem like we aren't being told everything?"

"We're never told everything on cases like this. That's the beauty of government bureaucracy," Alice joked, her hand still on the doorknob.

"No, I mean we are being deliberately steered away from the Moriarty files." Alice bit her lip, thinking of Moran's conversations with her as he continued to explain his theory. Sherlock was adamant, she had to give him that. "It seems like someone specifically does not want us investigating this one. Someone in the government, be it my brother, Lestrade, an MP… someone is desperately trying to keep us off of this case."

"I know," she nodded, casting a quick glance over the corridor before continuing, "To be honest, I've felt like that for a little while. Someone's either not telling us everything, or not giving the government everything. Maybe it's because we already know too much, or we're missing something obvious. It's getting annoying. But I think I know who it is. I've been getting emails of documents that only say things like 'stop' or 'turn back', things like that. But here's the thing - they're untraceable. I've tried. There's no sender and no address they can be traced to. I've also had Malinowski try, and he's had no luck. He's the best computer systems investigator we've got. He's been at this since Scotland Yard started giving their employees personal computers. And he's still got nothing. So I think whoever's doing this is the same person who took over the TV and radio signals to spread that footage of Moriarty. They're in a similar style, and all untraceable."

"We've been left out of the loop. I'm going to have to take this up with my brother," Sherlock resolved. Alice went into her office, leaving Sherlock to head towards the labs. He had re-watched the Moriarty tape nearly a hundred times, but still, he felt like he was missing something. As Alice was working, she heard him storming down the hall. Sure enough, Sherlock burst in and dropped into the old wooden chair that sat across from her desk. "Nothing! I'm missing something, and I have no idea what it is! Nothing! It's been a week, and we have nothing!"

She spun in her chair after finishing what she had been typing. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I really am. But if there's nothing, there's nothing. I know, there has to be a trace of evidence, a name or a line of computer code or something, but I'm not extremely well-versed in television production. They've brought in expert analysts and they still have nothing. Personally, I think it's a waiting game that we're stuck playing now. It could be Moriarty, it could be something else. But whatever's coming, we won't have any clues until something happens. I know it's hard to face, but I think this is going to have to involve a body or a major robbery before we get any further. I want to get on this case as soon as I can, just like you do. But that means we're going to have to wait, either for something big to happen or for some sort of communication. We can't deduce much from something we can't trace."

"I'm having them print out stills from the video," Sherlock told her, fiddling with a paperclip he'd picked up from her desk. He was busy folding it and unfolding it, bending it into shapes as he told her, "It will give me something to do. I can't take on a new case now, not since we've got something as big as this."

"Why don't you keep going through the unsolved ones?" Alice suggested. "There are a ton sitting down in Records that haven't even been computerized yet. You figured out Ricoletti, didn't you?"

"It's a fair idea," he sighed, standing and looking out of the window restlessly. He came over to look at her computer, seeing that she'd been accessing the mountains of data within the evidence collections system. "See what they have on Moriarty. The most recent entries only."

She typed in "Moriarty" and a file popped up. Within it, the only entries that year were the accession of the video tapes and reports indicating that every radio and television signal, from local channels to secure MI5 and MI6 communications, had been taken over and the tape had been played across them, all over Great Britain. "See, there's nothing new. Nothing's been added since the last time I checked - or removed, for that matter. No progress."

"Unless it's being hidden," he proposed.

"Unless it's being hidden," she nodded, going back to the computer. "If you've got an idea that something might be being hidden from us, why not go spy around your brother's office? There's got to be something there, if there's anything that hasn't been given to Scotland Yard. If anyone knows more about this case than we do, it'll be Mycroft." Sherlock set off before Alice had finished her last sentence. She shook her head, going back to what she had been working on.

That afternoon, she went out on a case. There was a new body to be recovered, another one born on the same day and found with travel papers. Alice was pretty sure it was insurance fraud, since they and their spouses had all been members of the same social club that provided them with life insurance. And every one of them had signed their policies over to one beneficiary. But she had to be sure. On the Tube ride over to the crime scene, something felt off. She'd felt off for a day or so, but it was probably all of the stress. She bolted up as the train stopped, Alice realizing that she had been falling asleep. Sherlock still hadn't been sleeping like he should, and she'd been up with him at least twice every night. It was the dreams, all Moriarty and Magnussen. And some sort of darkness that hovered over everything, something that he couldn't find words for. But she had a suspicion that wasn't why. _Maybe I'm getting sick. All of this running about in the snow and everything… or maybe... No, that's impossible. But we did... it was once, but it's still possible that…_ "Chiswick Park Station. Mind the gap."

For the rest of the afternoon, Alice was preoccupied, her mind ruminating over the possibility that she could be more than just extremely stressed or getting sick. She'd been standing over a body, analyzing everything all afternoon. "He's in his late thirties, local schoolteacher. There's the fingers that tell you that. They're worn away in a pattern consistent with flipping pages, but also covered in ink, so he isn't a bank teller. He's got red ink on his right sleeve - right handed. And he's got an ID from a local school in his coat pocket. He's married, just like the others. Hardly ever takes that wedding ring off, by the looks of it. He's got kids - his own kids. There's a photo of them in his wallet, isn't there? A toddler and an older child. His wife's pregnant."

"What else?" Donovan asked when Alice hesitated. She held up her notepad, raising an eyebrow as she waited. "Is that it? What about the killer?"

"Ah, yeah, sorry. He's been killed with a blunt object, looks like a crowbar to the side of the head. Our killer's got access and prowess with tools like that, so he's probably in machinery, or, more likely, he owns a shop. He's certainly got the strength to swing a crowbar or a tyre lever and hit his target smoothly. He's strong, and he's coordinated. That fits with the status of the other members of the club. And it wouldn't put suspicion on him." She stepped away for a second, Donovan taking notes as the body was photographed. "It's probably the suspect they picked up in Brighton."

"I see," Donovan nodded, stepping back as the forensics team moved in to put the body in a bag. They had been waiting for a while, hovering over the detectives as they worked. "I'll pass it all on to Lestrade. The Freak didn't want to come down and check this out?"

"No, no he didn't," Alice pursed her lips, adding, "It's not up his alley. Besides, he didn't want to see people like you." Donovan scoffed and walked away, chattering with one of the forensic techs about some sort of office gossip. Alice went outside, passing a few groups of investigators before finally running into Lestrade on the steps. The Detective Inspector had just hung up his phone, looking exasperated. He was about to say something to a new member of their unit when he saw her approaching.

"Everything alright?" he asked, looking her up and down. "You really don't look well."

"Funny, people have been saying that all day. I think I'm going to head home, make some tea, and go back to bed. Donovan's got a grip on everything here. I… I've got to head out."

Stopping at the pharmacy before heading home, Alice passed Sherlock on the road, waving as she walked. He grabbed her arm, stopping her on the sidewalk. "I'm headed to Saint Bart's," he told her. "Molly's got the recording from the hospital televisions and she says there's an oddity in some of them. I'm having someone drop the stills off at the flat, but I'm going to review them in person. Maybe it'll give me a lead." Sherlock paused, noticing how exhausted she looked. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Look, I've got to go. There's a mountain of work waiting for me," Alice smiled in apology. "I've got this case, plus Lestrade wanted me to look over one from near Bayswater that looks like it's going to end up taking me out there to see the scene in person."

Sherlock nodded, giving her a kiss before heading on his way. Alice headed back to Baker Street, walking as quickly as she could. It seemed like everyone in the world was trying to impede her curiosity. Mr. Chaterjee stopped her to say hello and talk about the cafe. He'd been wiping off a few tables and decided to say hello, but then wrapped her up in a discussion. Then Mrs. Hudson stopped her on the stairs, saying they'd gotten mail, and some sort of package had arrived for Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson thought it was more science equipment, but she wasn't sure. Then she had to take Chester for a walk, since he'd been circling her feet from the moment she got back into the flat. Then there was a call from Molly, saying Sherlock was in the lab and would probably be there for a while. He was using the old television set in the morgue, the one they used to play back recordings of autopsies from years ago, from before they were digitized immediately. He'd been playing the tapes for an hour, she'd said. Finally, she'd gotten a moment to herself.

Alice sat on the edge of the bathtub, holding the test in her hand. When it beeped positive, she took a deep breath and went to the kitchen. Screw whatever experiment Sherlock was working on. In a wave of emotions that she could hardly define, she began to tear it apart, setting things up for her own experiment. She had to do this test herself. There was no way the pharmacy's test could be right. So she set up an entire experiment, drawing her own blood this time. As it processed, she stripped off her gloves, untying her apron and hanging it back up in the kitchen. She cleaned a few things up, leaving only the essential parts of the experiment. There was still time for the test to run. Alice paced. And paced. And paced. Suddenly, the solution she'd made turned a different color, Alice crumpling to the floor as soon as she saw it. She wouldn't have messed up the test. It was real.

She looked up as the clock chimed, realizing that Sherlock would be home soon. Quickly, she dumped everything down the sink, clearing away the evidence. When Sherlock got back, she was scrubbing out the last beaker. He was slightly taken aback as he looked over the kitchen and the dining room. She usually didn't clean up his science experiments, especially not the ones that had just been set up. "What have you done? I'd had that set up for - Have you been crying?"

"Ah, no," she said, turning back to the sink, her eyes clearly red. She wiped at them, shaking her head. "You're… you're mistaken. I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson needed this cleaned up for soemthing and-"

"Something's wrong," Sherlock contradicted, not having to deduce anything. She gave it all away. "You've been crying, You're scrubbing out the last of an experiment that took me almost a week to set up. That means you must have needed the equipment for something. You've -"

"Sherlock, shut up. Just… just shut up." She set the final beaker down on the kitchen counter, where she had the others drying. Alice wiped at her eyes again as she dried her hands. "It's not important."

"Please, tell me. Talk to me. You've always asked me how I am, always insisted that I talk even when I don't want to. Now it's my turn to insist. So talk. I'll… I'll make tea." Not being too adept at handling emotions like this, he set the kettle to boil, taking mugs out of the cabinet as Alice raked a hand through her hair, leaned back against the counter, and sighed. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, there was a knock at the door. "I've got it."

"Oh, hello, Sherlock, dear," Mrs. Hudson smiled, holding a piece of paper. "It's usually Alice that answers the door. Ah, anyway, someone left this for you. Just knocked on the door and handed it to me." She shook her head, adding, "Poor boy wouldn't take any tea or hot chocolate. Looked like he was freezing."

Sherlock accepted the paper, thanking the landlady and closing the door rather abruptly. He read it as he went back to the kitchen. "What's that?" Alice looked over to him, seeing Sherlock shake his head.

"Telegram. It's wrong, though, or I think I'd be worried." He crumpled up the paper, throwing it in the bin.

"What's it say?"

He quoted it from memory. "'Get away from the case, or your fiancee and your child will die'. Rubbish. As you were saying, what's wrong?"

 _No. No no no no. I've only known for a couple of hours. And I haven't talked to anyone. The flat has to be bugged. Someone's been here. Someone's watching._ Alice walked into the dining room, where she had been doing the experiments. "There's a bug in here. Someone's watching us."

"What?" She began to search, turning the room over and looking for hidden cameras. Sherlock watched, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "I don't get it. How do you know we're being watched? That was just a silly note, something designed to scare us." Alice stood, holding up a metallic device, a tiny pinhole camera that had been stuck in a painting. "How did you know that was there?"

"Because that telegram…" She paused, crushing the camera and dropping it into her tea to be sure that no one would be listening. "That telegram wasn't wrong. I just found out today. I was going to tell you when you got home, but - someone saw. Someone must have known, and since no one's been up here but me and Chester. Voila, camera."

He was still very confused. "But what-"

Alice sighed, having to spell it out for him. "I'm pregnant, Sherlock. I'm pregnant, you're going to be a father, all of that. That's the experiment I was doing, I had to be sure the pharmacy test was right. I didn't believe it, but… you should have seen it, I probably looked like I had gone mad while I was doing all of that. That's why I was crying. That's what's wrong," she admitted, Sherlock reaching out for her. He held her as she continued talking, nearly weeping into his chest. "I'm so sorry. I know you never wanted kids, and I know you're not much for sleeping with people… I'm so sorry, Sherlock, this is my faul-"

"No." He held her tightly, saying, "I wanted to, and we didn't think. I love you. I… it's okay. We'll figure it all out. Here, let me," he broke free from her grasp, taking her hand and leading her back into the kitchen. The water was still hot, so he poured her more tea in a new mug. "That's what one's supposed to do in a crisis, right? It's what you always do." Alice smiled, Sherlock leading her to the sofa.

"I'm sorry," she began again as they sat down together. "I know… neither of us wanted this, but…"

"Do you want to keep it?" he asked blankly, Alice setting her tea down and nodding. _You're doing this wrong. That wasn't very tactful. Don't mess this up._

Luckily, she didn't take offense to it. "I've had a bit of time to think since I finished that experiment. Sherlock, I've done a lot of bad things in my life. I've killed a lot of people. I've taken a lot of lives from this earth. And I think, if I can bring a life into it - if I've been given the possibility of being able to bring a life into it - I should." She finally met his eye, Sherlock smiling and giving her a kiss.

"Okay."

"That's.. That's it? 'Okay'?" She looked up at him, Sherlock smiling into her teary eyes.

"Okay. It's your choice, honey."

"Honey?" Alice smiled.

"Would you rather I called you some other couple-y nickname?"

"No, no," she laughed, "Go on."

He held a hand to her stomach as he told her, "I love you, Alice. And whoever you've got here."

"Pregnant? You and Sherlock?" Alice nodded, John shaking his head incredulously. He was the first person they decided to tell, after Mrs. Hudson, who had walked in while they were discussing it. She'd nearly shrieked, congratulating them and making tea, telling stories about how she had wanted to have a child but her husband's lifestyle would have been terrible to raise one in. She'd beamed when John had arrived, excited to have someone to talk to about the latest gossip on Baker Street. But so far, John had been dumbfounded. John leaned back in his chair, looking off towards the wall. "How…"

Alice smiled, laughing a bit. "Well, when two people love each other very much-"

"No, I mean, when?"

"That's not really the point now, is it, John?"

"Pregnant? Are you sure?" He leaned forward again, processing the information. "Really?"

Alice looked down at her phone, which had just buzzed. Sherlock had texted, asking if it was okay for him to come out of his room. He'd holed himself up there to avoid having this discussion with John, making Alice do it instead. She'd punished him by forcing him to call his parents and be the one to tell them. "I tested myself twice. He ran another test. We're sure."

"This is… this is great." John got up, giving her a hug. "Congratulations. But you really... you two... you slept with him? He slept with you?"

"That's still usually how people get pregnant," Alice laughed.

Emerging from his room, Sherlock added, "Believe it or not, the basics are relatively simple, John. Human anatomy-"

John sighed, shaking his head. "Sherlock, I don't want to know. You can spare me the details."

He and Sherlock had a long conversation as Alice called Mary to tell her the news. She only caught snippets of it, but from what she heard, John was reminding him of all of his new responsibilities and of what this would mean for his work. "You're going to have to be home a lot more now, you know that, right? And you can't run off in the middle of the night."

When John had left, Alice and Sherlock grabbed their coats, on their way to tell Molly the news. Their visit to Saint Bart's was rather brief, since they walked in when Molly was in the middle of an autopsy. She stripped off her gloves and went through all of her decontamination procedures to talk to them when she realized that it was something serious. "What's wrong? I can see it in your face, something's up."

"I'm pregnant," Alice admitted, Molly smiling almost immediately. "We wanted to tell you in person."

"That's amazing! Are you two thinking of getting married and settling down?" Molly asked, hugging Alice. "I'm sorry, that sounded judgmental... I only meant, since you're engaged already, and news like this..."

"It's alright," Alice smiled, assuring her that she would be the first to know. "We haven't really discussed it yet. It hasn't even been a day since we found out, but I'm sure that's a conversation we'll be having in the near future. But when we do, I'll make sure yours is the first invitation we send out. And Molly, I know it's sudden, but," Alice glanced to Sherlock, who looked at her questioningly, since they hadn't had this conversation yet, "will you be the godmother?"

Sherlock was slightly taken aback. "What about John?"

"John would be the godfather, naturally," Alice clarified, both for Molly and for Sherlock. "But - and this stays between the three of us - I don't trust Mary as far as I could throw her. We're friends, yes. We've known each other for years now, ever since she and John started dating. She's a nice woman and all, but I still don't trust her. I know you don't either, Sherlock. It's not the nicest thing to say, especially if John's the godfather, and since they asked us to be godparents, but... I'm sorry, I just... I would much rather it be you, Molly."

"I'd be delighted," Molly beamed. "It's an honor, really. But I do have to get back to work, especially since Mrs. Barnes is already opened up."

Mycroft too was busy, talking to someone on the phone when his secretary showed Alice and Sherlock held up one finger, as if to say "wait a moment", going back to his conversation. "Yes, they will be sent up to you shortly. Yes, ma'am. Greg and I would be delighted to stop by over the weekend, if you have one of your assistants send me your schedule. I know you're a busy woman, but it would be lovely to see you again. It's been far too long. I am so sorry to cut this conversation short, but my little brother and his fiancee have arrived unannounced. Yes, that brother. Yes, that's her, the ginger one. I'm sure you've met. Okay, have a great afternoon, Your Highness." He set the phone down, spinning in his chair to face them. "Well? Why are you here?"

"We've got something to tell you," Alice explained, taking a seat. Sherlock stood behind her. They'd agreed in the cab that she would be the one to do the talking, since Mycroft would be more likely to listen to someone who wasn't his brother. "You're going to be an uncle. I'm pregnant, Mycroft."

"Congratulations, then." Mycroft gave no sign of a real reaction, instead advising, "As long as you don't name it after that skull on the mantelpiece..."

"But I like the skull," Alice frowned, looking to Sherlock. "It's got character." She and Mycroft laughed as he stood to hug her.

"In all seriousness, congratulations. Have you told Mum and Dad yet?" he asked, turning to Sherlock.

"They took it rather well."

"You do realize -"

"How this will change my career, my life, all of that? Yes," Sherlock pursed his lips, already fed up with his brother. "Believe it or not, I do. And while we really didn't anticipate this, we've come to terms with it. Besides, I think Alice would enjoy having me home a bit more."

"Very well then," Mycroft gave him a look, continuing, "congratulations, brother mine. And may he - or she - take after Uncle Mycroft."

"Please don't tell Greg," Alice begged. "I don't want to be given desk duty, at least not too early. I'm sorry, but he'd restrict me to typing up reports and online investigations. I'll tell him on my own, when i need to."

Mycroft nodded. "I will hold off on it, but you're going to have to tell him eventually."

As soon as they were out of his earshot, Sherlock smiled, chuckling a bit. "That went well. I'm surprised he didn't try to lecture me."

"Oh, there's plenty of time for that," Alice assured him, taking his hand as they made their way down Downing Street. "Besides, Uncle Mycroft will have plenty of time to remind us, to lecture us on how to be parents, and to offer all of his parenting 'advice'. Let's just hope Lestrade can balance him out."

* * *

A.N.: This is probably the last chapter I'll write before Series 4 comes out, since I NEED THE NEXT SERIES (to keep the story going, and to satisfy my Sherlock craving for a little while at least). I'm going to keep plotting things out though, since I know where I'm taking some parts of the story, but I need Moffat & Gatiss for the structure! Anyway, thanks for all of the comments and reviews, and I hope we all can get through the heartbreaks in the next series together!

Note 2: So now I'm publishing, and TLD is going to come out soon. Agh, it's going to be a devastating episode! I'm gonna keep writing as I wait for the next episode...


	31. Chapter 31

"Where are you going?" Sherlock looked over at Alice, who had donned her coat and was just about to grab her purse from the kitchen counter. "It's your day off, so not the Yard."

"The doctor. Gotta get this thing checked out. Seems like there's something growing in here." She pointed to her stomach with a smile, Sherlock jumping up from where he sat to kiss her goodbye.

"You don't want me to come with?" he asked, taking one of her hands. Ever since he'd found out they were going to have a child, he'd become more protective, but more gentle with her all the same. He'd stopped leaping up randomly with ideas or doing anything that might surprise her. He'd started trying to stick to a somewhat normal routine and be home by a certain time, not too late. It had only been a bit over a week, but the change had been noticeable.

"It's okay. You have enough to deal with as it is. Besides, you could do with a nap."

"Positive?"

"Just wait until the press finds out. You're in the papers enough as it is, but just wait. You won't want to leave the flat then, even when we have to," she promised, bending down to scratch Chester's ears as the dog padded over to see what was going on. "The last few times the press have come after us have been a lot, but this... they'd make this front-page news. You know how they love you. Or hate you."

"Alright," Sherlock sighed, kissing her again.

Alice paused before she left. "Sherlock? One more thing."

"Hmm?"

"I've been thinking… do you think we should move up the wedding date now that we've got, you know, a kid on the way? I know we got engaged as a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, and that we weren't planning on it for a while, but, I mean, we don't have to, but, well, what do you think, at least?"

"If you still want to get married." Sherlock smiled again. "If you'll have me."

"Really?"

"As long as it's something small, no press or anything," he requested. "Not a lot of people either. You know how I feel about people."

"People are idiots. Most of them, anyway." Alice nodded, saying, "I'll make all of the reservations under a different name, don't worry. If you want, you can look into halls and stuff while I'm out, just to get your mind off of everything." Sherlock had been very busy lately. He still hadn't been sleeping properly, and with new developments in the Moriarty case and the constant influx of new cases altogether, he had been living on naps and lots of caffeine. "You should try to get a nap while I'm out. I know, you'd rather that I was here with you, but I promise you, I'll be okay. Nothing's going to happen to me. I'll be back before you know it. You need to get some rest."

"I'm fine," Sherlock insisted with a yawn. "Besides, I have too much to do, what with-"

"I know, I know. But you really do need sleep. If you want, if these dreams are still as bad, maybe you should talk to someone, Sherlock. Someone other than me."

"You're trained in psych-"

"I love you, but that's not my area." Alice was shaking her head. "I was trained in psychology, yes. But my specialty is in forensic psychology, not trauma. Just think about it, okay? I've got a few people I've met in the field whose names I can pass along, if you want. I really do have to get going."

"Okay." He kissed her goodbye, Alice heading out of the flat. Sherlock watched her go, turning back to his computer once she had disappeared into a cab.

When she was done at the doctor's, Alice met Mary for coffee. They'd been meaning to meet up for a while, and Mary had been off of work for a bit, since she was "pretty pregnant. At least I can still walk around enough to get to a cab," Mary chuckled, taking a sip of her latte. "John says you've got something to tell me, but I've also got news for you. Which one do you want first?"

"Go ahead, tell me," Alice said, waiting. "Mine… well, Sherlock and I thought… it's something you need to know. You'll find out eventually, but... well, just tell me yours."

"First off, John and I have been doing some thinking. We're asking Molly and Mrs. Hudson to be godparents. And of course, Sherlock too. You know John would never not name him as one of them, even though he's pretty bad with, well, people, the whole parenting thing, all of it. Which means you'll have to be one as well, since, you know Sherlock. How he needs someone to manage him." Mary rolled her eyes, smiling at her own joke. "The second part is that we've finally found a name. Well, we think. Rosamund. Rosie for short. John's still hung up on 'Charlotte', 'Catherine', and 'Christine', but I'll settle it. Either way, what do you think of it?"

"It's beautiful," Alice beamed. "And thank you. It's an honor, really. My goodness, four godparents? Little Rosie's going to be absolutely spoiled!"

"What's your news?" Mary asked, looking her over. "You look like you're absolutely bursting to tell me. I mean, John's keeping it so hushed up, it feels like it's classified by the government or something."

"Well, I'm in the market for baby names too."

"Oh my god, really?" Mary got up as quickly as she could to give Alice a hug. "Congratulations! When did you find out?"

"Only a little while ago. By my count, at least, it's due in September or October, so I've got a long while to go." Alice put a hand to her stomach. "But Rosie'll have a friend to play with for sure."

"That's wonderful news. John already knew, I'm sure. I bet he was the first one Sherlock told. John kept saying you had to tell me in person, but, oh, it's wonderful. I… I thought it was something big, but I'll have to admit, I never pegged Sherlock as a having-kids type. And I never really pegged you as a mum."

"I never pegged you as a mercenary-for-hire either, but we all have our little quirks, now don't we?" Alice smirked, taking a satisfied sip of her coffee.

"You really are like him," Mary marveled, taking another sip of her drink. "I mean, I'd seen it before, with the deductions and the ability to solve cases like no one other than Sherlock Holmes can, but really, I can see it more and more every day. No wonder he likes you, he's so in love with himself soemtimes."

Alice stood, ready to head back to Baker Street. "I've got to get going, but thank you, again. I'll make sure Sherlock actually understands what a godfather's supposed to do. Like you said, he's never been good at these things. But I expect he'll learn." She left without glancing back.

She didn't make it back to Baker Street, however. A phone call from Lestrade summoned her down to Scotland Yard, where she went searching for the Detective Inspector. Lestrade was waiting for her in his office, Alice tentatively taking a seat in the chair across from his desk. Lestrade was looking out of the window, but began to speak. "I'm sure you've seen it in the papers. There's a princess - Princess Samaira - coming in on a diplomatic mission relatively soon. We need a woman to be stationed with her, 24/7. I'm nominating you."

"Why me? Why not Donovan, or Hopkins? What made you pick me?"

"Because," Lestrade turned to face her, explaining, "they have their own cases. Hopkins is still on the one with the pearl, if only you or Sherlock would pick it up and bother helping her. But out of the three of you, I trust you the most. You, of all people, will stop at nothing to accomplish what you set out to do, even if it means killing to protect the princess. They need someone constantly there, and given what I know - what I've been allowed to know - about your background and your training, you're the best one for the job, just in case anything goes bad."

"I'll have to talk it over with Sherlock, of course," Alice told him, "but I'll do it. How long will she be here for?"

"Just a few days in late March, early April. We'll put you up in her hotel, pay for everything. Well, the diplomatic mission will. But either way, everything will be taken care of and you'll be paid handsomely."

"Is there anything else, sir?" Alice had grabbed her purse and was anxious to leave. "It's just that Sherlock's expecting me, and you know how he can be. I didn't tell him about my detour here, and I'm sure he's getting worried. I told him I'd be back a while ago."

"Boy, do I know what he can be like," Lestrade whistled. "Nothing else that I can think of. Sorry I called you in on your day off, but Mycroft just rang, asking if I knew anyone who would be up for the job. Give Sherlock my regards, will you?"

"Of course," Alice nodded. When she got to the flat, however, Lestrade's regards were nearly forgotten. She walked in to see Sherlock lying on the sofa, reading a book on parenting. Chester was curled up by the side of the sofa, Sherlock petting him lazily as he read. "What are you doing?"

"Reading, obviously."

"That's not for a case, is it?"

"Mmm, no." He set the book on his chest, Alice pecking him on the cheek as she crossed the room and dropped into his armchair. "I've figured it out. Moriarty will come after me, like he always does. I'm bait. So what does the bait do? It waits. And while I'm lying in wait, I figured I would lay here and educate myself on something I haven't the slightest idea about, but I'll have to figure out anyway."

"Well that's good, I guess. So... Lestrade's given me an assignment."

"Oh?"

"There's going to be a visiting dignitary to London in a couple of months, the Princess Samaira… I'm her bodyguard. It'll only be for a few days, but I'll be out of the flat," Alice explained, Sherlock nodding. "Mrs. Hudson will be here, though, and I'm sure John and Mary will drop by. With the baby, I expect."

Sherlock frowned a bit, objecting that, "In your condition -"

"I'll be fine, Sherlock. I just have to get her through security checks and make sure she isn't swamped by reporters. It's not even a sightseeing tour. She's just coming to take official pictures and shake hands."

"I've been thinking," Sherlock began, glancing over to where she sat.

"It would seem so. You usually are."

"No, the wedding. And the names."

"Go on then."

"March 15th. You won't be showing too much then, so you'll be happy looking back on pictures of it. And March means that it can be a spring wedding with a bit of cold. Besides, you always liked the Ides of March, didn't you? It's a pretty bloody day, at least according to history. Perfect for two detectives. I've already made some preliminary calls." He fished a paper airplane from his pocket, throwing it over the coffee table to her. It was a list of numbers - caterers, halls, chapels, florists. "It's all there."

"And names? You've been thinking of baby names?" Alice wondered, raising an eyebrow. "Surely not Sherlock the Second? William? Scott?"

"No, but William and Scott are both viable options. Then there's Tim, after dad. Definitely not Mycroft. Or there's Steven. Alan, Peter, Joseph, Julian, Vincent. No, scrap that last one."

"And if it's a girl?"

"Elizabeth, Clara, Emily... Wanda, after my mum. But we've got time yet."

Alice looked over the list of numbers, deciding that, "March wedding it is, then. Something small, since neither of us have much family. Some people from the Yard, at least Lestrade, Hopkins, a couple of the forensic techs. Your family, the Watsons, Molly, Mrs. Hudson... Maybe a few others, but that's really it."

"Getting married and having a child, how domestic," Sherlock quipped.

"I know, especially for an ex-agent and assassin, right?" Alice laughed as she stood. "I'm going to make some tea and look over the latest letters people have sent in. See if there's anything to keep you occupied until there's more on the Moriarty case. But for now, you get back to that book. Learn something for me, alright?"

* * *

A.N.: Sorry if I get behind in my writing... I'm going to be on vacation for a few days, and I'm trying to get as much work for university done in advance as I can. But I'm gonna try. TFP is going to kill us all, but I'm here for you. We can do this. #221bringit


	32. Chapter 32

"How could he have drowned if the lungs were filled with sand?" John wondered, looking up from his laptop. They'd been brought a ton of cases while they were dealing with the fallout from the Magnussen assassination. Sherlock, of course, was only taking the interesting ones, but John, Mary, and Alice were doing their best to solve some of the others too. Mrs. Hudson brought them piles of mail nearly every day, and Alice had taken over filtering through the letters and post cards, looking for potential cases and answering all of the "Dear Mr. Holmes" letters, especially those that came from kids. She'd even had to pick up packages full of evidence that people had sent. The most recent batch had included what looked like a drowning in sand, complete with a set of lungs on ice.

"Bad attempt at concealing a murder," Sherlock and Alice said together. Their eyes met, and Sherlock, smiling, let Alice continue from her perch among the letters. "He was drowned, but not in sand. The lungs were filled with sand after he died. It was just to throw us off. All you need is fine enough sand and a funnel. Looks like they used sandbox sand - the kind you can get from hardware stores for children's play-sets. Simple enough."

They had been working on various cases for a while, since Sherlock was waiting for some sort of response from Moriarty or his network. It made Alice feel better, because he wasn't probing the underworld for clues, which meant Moran wouldn't threaten him. At least for now. "Lestrade's calling you," Sherlock pointed to her laptop, where Lestrade was trying to video call them. Alice answered, saying hello. Sherlock, John, and Mary crowded around the computer as Alice answered.

"I've got a Mr. Hatherley who just showed up with his thumb cut off He's claiming that he survived a break in. His wife was killed this morning, stabbed in the abdomen several times, and he ran here. Would you like me to put him on?" Lestrade asked, sitting in his office.

"If you could, sure," Alice nodded, turning to the others for affirmation. They all agreed, Lestrade turning the screen so Mr. Hatherley could be seen. He was a rough looking man, who Alice could tell worked with his hands a lot. His left hand was bandaged, and he looked distraught. "Hello, Mr. Hatherley. I assume the hospital hung on to the thumb your attacker cut off, right?"

"Yes," Hatherley told her, "they had it, but they couldn't get it back on in time."

"Hmm." Alice nodded, looking at Lestrade. "Bart's, right? We need that thumb."

A couple of hours later, Sherlock came to the conclusion that Alice had expected. "Wrong thumb."

"Wrong thumb?" John asked, carefully handling the bag that Lestrade had brought them. Lestrade frowned, taking the bag from him and looking it over.

Sherlock affirmed that, "It's the wrong thumb. If the supposed attacker cut off his thumb, it would have been a left thumb. This one is a right. And I bet if you fingerprint it, this print won't match his other fingers."

"Clever, cutting off your thumb," Alice thought aloud. She took a sip of her tea, continuing, "Making it seem like you cut off your thumb, at least. But it's the wrong one. That means he's picked it up somewhere. Possibly even a good costume shop, but it could've been picked out of medical waste. Hatherley works with medical transports, right? No, wait, he's an engineer, isn't he? He works for the depot that transports waste from Bart's and a couple of other hospitals around here. He wasn't on the transports, but he could've had access to them. Check that bandage, Greg. If he is missing a thumb, it's from an accident a long time ago. It might just be that he's taped his thumb down under a lot of bandages. Wrong thumb means he did it."

Alice was standing in the kitchen, making more tea when John walked in. "It's nearly 5 o'clock," he told her, glancing at his watch. "Want me to pick up something for dinner? Or start making something?"

"That's okay, we've got a ton of leftovers. People from the Yard have been bringing things over, and all of the members of The Empty Hearse… they've all been wonderful since he's come back. People are still bringing things." She gestured towards a pan of brownies that sat on the counter, adding, "There are a ton of desserts, if you want a quick snack to tide you over."

"Oh, no, I shouldn't." John leaned against the counter, glancing backwards into the living room before turning back to Alice conspiratorially. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she nodded, pulling the kettle off of the stove as it began to whistle. "What's up? And do you want some tea?"

"Sure, thanks." He hesitated for a second before asking, "He's really accepted it? The whole being a dad gig? You've told him that he can't go running off and that you're going to need some sort of stability now, right?"

"I did. But you know us, John. Just like I know you and Mary. You're not going to give up the thrill of these cases, the danger, all of that, just because you have a kid. We're not giving anything up either. We're just going to have to restructure things a bit."

"And he's dealing with it?"

"Dealing with everything as well as I could expect him to," Alice shrugged. She looked back to where Sherlock was smiling at Mrs. Hudson, who had just arrived with Chester. She'd taken him down to bridge club with her, and he had been a hit with all of the ladies. "You know, sometimes I think he's doing better. Sometimes I think we could end up with something close to normal. But then he does things like… like killing Magnussen - thank goodness Mycroft got that covered up - and it makes me wonder. And that overdose. If Mycroft hadn't gotten him to the hospital in time, we would've lost him. And all of that happened while I was knocked out…" She shook her head, taking a deep breath before picking her mug up off of the counter. "We should go back out there, before he starts wondering."

John agreed. The headed back out to where Sherlock was looking at a pile of letters, throwing most of them in the recycling bin that Alice had long ago placed next to his chair. Some of them went into a pile by his side, which he was saving for later analysis. Alice took her normal seat next to Sherlock, John taking up his position by Mary. "What's this you've got?"

"Mystery torso washed up on the Thames, near Buckingham," Mary answered, passing her a file. Alice flipped through the newspaper clippings and the Scotland Yard printouts as Mary continued, "They're thinking they know who it was. Take a look."

"I was telling her that-"

"He's most likely the disappeared carnival worker they've been looking for. He had enemies, but moved around a lot. Hard to trace if he has a job that moves around for work. Also hard to notice if he leaves town mysteriously. The torso's got the marks of broken and healed ribs, signs of a limp in the left leg - look at the pelvis there, the way it's worn away more on that side. You said he'd recently gotten another tattoo, yeah? If they can get ink from the lymph nodes, they can confirm that he had a recent tattoo," Alice finished, looking up from the file. "Right?"

Sherlock smiled, answering with one word. "Brilliant."

They had dinner with the Watsons and Mrs. Hudson, plus the two guests that they hadn't met yet. They would be meeting the Watsons' soon, but Sherlock and Alice would have to wait for a lot longer for theirs. Mrs. Hudson said as much over dessert, sipping her tea and telling them that they would have the two most intelligent children in all of London. "I rather hope yours takes after you, at least in social skills, Alice, dear," Mrs. Hudson confessed. "But either way, you're going to be lucky."

When John and Mary had gone, Alice put on her pajamas, flopping down onto the sofa. "You know that's the client sofa," Sherlock reminded her with a soft smile. He had shed his jacket, untucked his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves, busily reading the letters that she had set aside for him earlier.

"I know," Alice nodded, "but you can see the telly from here. And you and I can both fit on the sofa. I'm not going to be able to squeeze into the same chair as you for much longer."

He sighed, gathering the letters and taking a seat next to her. Alice leaned her head on his shoulder, Sherlock instinctively wrapping an arm around her. He read over one of them before dropping the pile in his lap and turning to her. "What are we going to do with the kid when we've got a case? I know you're not going to give them up."

"I'd propose taking turns, but it's all the more fun going on cases with you. We've got Mrs. Hudson until they go to school," she proposed. Alice reached for the letters, pushing her glasses up onto her forehead. "I like this one, about the man whose brother was killed when he's having spells of amnesia. He says they were drugged with the same thing, even though they were across the city from each other."

"Hmm, we'll take it. Give him a call in the morning," Sherlock instructed. He was silent for a moment before looking down at her stomach. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"All of this. Nine months of carrying this kid around… I'm sorry. I didn't - we didn't - mean for this to happen. It's my fault. I-"

"No, Sherlock." Alice kissed his cheek, promising, "It's all for the best. We're going to be fine. They're going to be fine. It's all going to work out, I promise."

He was quiet for a couple of seconds before asking, "You're sure?"

"Yes. I can tell. Oh my God!" Alice bolted up, looking over to him.

Sherlock grabbed her arm. "What's wrong? Is it the baby?"

"No, no, the case! Sherlock, I've got it. He's on new heart medication. Lestrade had this guy in earlier for questioning. I saw him. He's on new heart meds, which have a ton of side effects, one of which is amnesia. He strangled his own brother, probably over something they'd been arguing about, but he doesn't remember it because he's been walking around London without remembering where he's been."

Sherlock gave a sigh of relief. "You know, they're going to be as brilliant as you are."


	33. Chapter 33

Alice was sitting in Sherlock's chair, typing up an email to Lestrade. He had sent her the initial travel details that Mycroft had forwarded from Princess Samaira's planners. She also had a list of wedding plans to go over, since Sherlock had been going mad with planning. He'd taken over a lot of the planning while he had been bored in between cases. The steady stream of letters and his wedding planning, along with his recurring dreams, would keep him up late at night. At least he had something to do when he woke up and couldn't go back to sleep.

As she sent her reply, she noticed that the flat was extremely quiet. Mary wasn't up and about making tea, John wasn't blogging, and Sherlock wasn't jumping up randomly, or looking over to her with some sort of theory. Her phone buzzed, It was Sherlock, saying that they were on the way to the hospital. "What do you mean? What's going on? What's all of that screaming?"

"Oh, that's Mary," Sherlock explained, John shouting in the background. "Just get to Saint Bart's as quick as - agh, Mary, please. Mary, stop hitting me."

"Sherlock," John warned from the driver's seat, "Mary."

"For God's sake, Sherlock, hang up the phone," Alice urged, getting up and looking around for her things. Purse, check. Shoes, check. Coat? "Help them. I'll be there as soon as I can." She hung up, immediately grabbing a coat from by the door and running downstairs.

Alice knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door, nearly humming with excitement. It sounded like Mrs. Hudson was doing her vacuuming, which meant she would be blasting music. So Alice kept knocking. Finally, the music was turned off and the vacuum stopped. So she knocked again. It seemed like the landlady was taking forever to answer, but when Mrs. Hudson pulled the door open, she could tell something was up. "Oh dear… Is it Sherlock?"

"No, it's Mary. She's in labor."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes grew wide. "I should go -"

"No, it's fine," Alice assured her. "I'm only going there to pick up Sherlock. I'm sure Mary doesn't want him there. Goodness knows I wouldn't, if I were her." Mrs. Hudson raised an eyebrow, Alice smiling. "I'm working on him. He'll be ready when the time comes. I really do have to go, though."

Mrs. Hudson let her go, watching as she tore down the stairs and hailed a cab. Alice called in to John's surgery to let them know that he would be out, trying to take care of things while he was busy with Mary. Sherlock was pacing outside of the maternity ward when she arrived. He looked to her with an expression saying "thank goodness". She smiled, giving him a hug. "Let's go home."

"Please don't kill me when you're in labor," he asked, taking her hand. "Mary nearly broke my zygomatics."

"I'll try not to," Alice assured him as they walked outside. "Do you think we should wait for Mary and John? It might take a while."

"Should we?"

"That's right, you wouldn't know. Sorry, that sounded mean. Just… we should wait," Alice told him, Sherlock pulling her towards the door.

"Coffee," he explained as they turned into the cafeteria. He went to stand in line, Alice grabbing them seats. She smiled at the sight of her detective standing in line, checking his phone… probably tweeting. Ever since he discovered Twitter, Sherlock had been tweeting out random thoughts, deductions, and pictures of crime scenes, which Lestrade would reprimand him for. At least he was getting better at hunting down cybercrime. Sherlock came back, handing her a cup. "Cream and sugar?"

"Cream and sugar," she nodded, Sherlock taking his seat. He sat there for a moment before turning to her to say, "I finished that book. And six others on the subject… what Mary's going through seems brutal. I'm so sorry."

Alice leaned her head on his shoulder, saying, "As long as you can get them to pump my veins full of painkillers, I'll be fine."

"I'll smuggle some in, just in case they can't give you the good stuff," he promised.

"Sherlock!" Alice laughed, hitting his arm lightly. He looked slightly alarmed, but Alice explained, "You can't do that!"

"I suppose," Sherlock nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Watson baby… on the way… hashtag 221 bring it…" Alice sighed as he sent the tweet, taking a sip of her coffee. "'Sherlock' is still a girl's name… hashtag I vote Sherlock."

"Hashtag 'Alice' is a nice name too," Alice leaned over to tell him.

"No, that's too long of a hashtag."

"Well, then, Mr. Twitter king," she laughed. "Want to check on Mary? I'm sure I could convince a nurse to let us know what's going on."

They stood up, Sherlock putting an arm around his fiance as they walked. Subconsciously, he already was acting like she was extremely pregnant, like anything that happened could potentially hurt her. There were times when Alice wanted to snap at him, to say that she could handle it, that it had barely even been a month, that she didn't need to be protected or watched over like that. But then again, it was nice that he paid more attention to her now, that he'd toned himself down and didn't run off as often. That he finally realized that he had responsibilities to people other than himself. For now, though, she didn't pay it much mind.

Alice pulled a nurse over, asking what was going on. "I'm sorry, it's just… my cousin's in there. She's been so sick throughout her entire pregnancy… Can you at least tell me how she's doing?"

The nurse sighed, her face softening. "She's just had the baby. Little girl, perfectly healthy. She's lucky. Look, I'm sorry, but I've really got to go. I've got to be in a C-section for a pair of twins in a couple of minutes, and I've got a panel of amneos to run in the lab after that."

"Thanks, Lucy," Alice smiled as the nurse walked away. As soon as she was out of earshot, she turned to Sherlock to say, "See? It's easy." Sherlock shrugged, letting Alice take his arm and lead him down to the waiting area.

Alice grabbed Sherlock's arm, guiding him into the church. The Watsons' daughter was being baptized that morning, and Sherlock had been a mess about it. Alice had had to force him to dress up, and she practically dragged him to the car. They had carpooled with Lestrade, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson, which made the whole thing worse. He had complained the entire time, saying that there was no need for baptisms now that modern medical care had been invented. Alice had pulled him out of the cab, grabbing his hand so he wouldn't start tweeting. Or at least he would type slower.

He was on his phone during the ceremony, Alice finally turning to him to hiss, "You had better not be texting during my wedding, Mr. Holmes. Heaven forbid you as much as touch your phone."

"Would never dream of it," he answered as the priest glared. "You would have my head for that. If there's one thing I fear, it's pissing you off that severely."

Alice chuckled, putting a hand to her stomach. One more month until the wedding. And several more months until they would have their child. As the priest led them in a prayer, she took Sherlock's hand again. He had at least put his phone down for the prayer. He was making progress.

They had cleared out John's old room, and Mrs. Hudson had helped them repaint it. Well, she had helped Alice choose a color, and Sherlock and John had painted it while Alice and Mrs. Hudson had supervised and brought them drinks. They were starting to decorate, Alice ordering things online as Sherlock got the wedding preparations in order. He had been extremely helpful, making a ton of phone calls and reservations. But still, it had been a lot on both of them.

"Well then, you'd better start paying attention," Alice told him, turning back to face the preacher. "They're going to ask them about the godparents soon, and you'd better be ready."

"Mhm," Sherlock nodded, glancing back down at his phone. Alice frowned at him, thinking that she would take it away before the wedding. And before the baptism. And before every important event. She would take it away and hide it somewhere. Or give it to John. No, he would pickpocket John. Give it to Mrs. Hudson - she would never give it up.

* * *

A.N.: This is the first chapter I wrote after The Final Problem. I loved it. Yes, it was problematic. Yes, there are a lot of loose ends that I need to tie up here. And yes, rumors are running wild about it, about a mysterious fourth episode, and about everything else. But I loved it. And I absolutely love Eurus. She's going to be a treat to write.


	34. Chapter 34

"No funny business, Mister," Mrs. Hudson told Sherlock, bursting into the small room where he, John, Mycroft, and Mr. Holmes were standing. They had sequestered themselves off into the chapel's maintenance room, while Alice, Mrs. Holmes, and until recently, Mrs. Hudson, were all getting ready in the much more spacious room nextdoor.

"Mrs. Hudson, please," John told her, grabbing the landlady's arm and guiding her back to the door. "We're trying to have a conversation. Please."

"Keep him in line, will you? Alice will have his head if he messes this up. And for goodness' sake, keep him away from that phone."

Mrs. Hudson left, heading back to where she had been before without another word. She was consulting with some of the others, going to give Alice advice. "Alice, dear, you really do look amazing. And you're not showing at all."

Alice spun around, smiling. "You look wonderful," Mrs. Holmes beamed. "I wish… I wish I could've had a daughter whose wedding I helped with. I wish… well, if things were different, maybe. But you're so lucky, dear. And my son… it's a miracle you haven't killed him in his sleep already," she laughed. "I'm sure any other woman would have."

Meanwhile, John turned to Sherlock and said, "If you've never listened to me before, you need to listen to me now. You're about to get married. I know you say marriage is nothing but a social contract meant for the rest of the world, but you have got to listen. Yes, it will be like before. You two will still be living together and solving cases and all that, but it's a commitment. You've got to understand that you can't go running off and putting yourself in danger as much, especially now, with a kid on the way. Look, like Lestrade says, you're a great man. Maybe she'll make you a good one." John checked his watch once more, nodding to Mr. Holmes before heading out of the door.

Mycroft looked to his brother, agreeing with John. "You have a lot more to think about now than just yourself. You see that with Greg and I. We put ourselves in danger every day, but we've got each other to think about. If anything happens to you, she'll finish you off herself. I know her. You'll do fine, brother mine, but you have to remember to keep yourself on a bit of a shorter leash."

He left Sherlock with their father, who had his own advice for his son. "I've waited for this day for a long time. You know, Mikey's wedding wasn't a big thing either, but you'll at least make the papers." He sighed, looking away at the shelves of paint, mops, and various industrial cleaners. "When you were a kid, your mum and I were talking about the day you would go off to uni. Mycroft was getting ready to leave, and you, well, we still had seven more years with you. But we were talking about it, and she… she broke down. She broke down after… after Mikey left, but you were always her baby. There was that day you almost drowned as a kid, and she wouldn't let you out of her sight for years afterwards, she was so afraid. I think it got to you - that's why you were never a fan of open water. But when you actually left for uni, she was so brave. In the car this morning, she broke down like that again. Your mother is still amazed by you, by Alice, by everything. But Sherlock, the most important thing is that she loves you, that we both love you. You mean more to us than anything else in the world, and now you're going out there, taking another big step. Good luck, son." He reached out, hugging Sherlock, who stiffly hugged him in return.

"What do you mean I almost drowned as a child?" Sherlock asked as they left the room together. He checked that his cuffs were buttoned, thinking back to his childhood. They had had plenty of family adventures out on the water, but he couldn't remember almost drowning. "I don't remember any of that."

"It was a boating accident when you were little. I'd hardly expect you to remember it, you were so young, but you'd always had an aversion to water after that." Mr. Holmes left Sherlock at the door of the chapel, since he would be giving Alice away. "Go on now. You've got to wait for your bride."

Alice was still in the room with Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Hudson, who were fussing over her and making last-minute adjustments to her dress, her hair, her bouquet. "I've always loved these roses," Mrs. Holmes said, wiping at her eyes. "Oh dear, I'm crying already."

"When I got married, it was a whirlwind thing, never really something that would last," Mrs. Hudson confessed as she glanced in a mirror, fixing her hat. "But you two, you've got something special. I've never met anyone as unique as Sherlock Holmes, but you… you're perfect for him. I've seen the way you two work together, the way you spend your time together. You're going to be happy, I'm sure. It will be stressful, but you'll be happy."

"Thank you," Alice smiled, giving her a hug before Mrs. Hudson headed out to meet Mr. Chaterjee, who had just arrived with some of the other guests. Mrs. Holmes checked her phone, tucking it back into her bag. "How long?"

"Four and a half minutes until they start the procession. Tim's going to be waiting for you." She hugged Alice, telling her that, "You're the best thing that could have happened to him. You and John Watson. He needed that man, and he needs you. You're giving him the chance to have a family and do what he loves, all at the same time. It's very rare that that happens… when tim and I got married, I kept writing my books, but I never taught again, never spent another day in the lab. I stayed home, raised the children. But you, you have a real chance at having both. I've seen you two work your deduction magic. And I've seen you manage him. You can do both, I can tell."

"I've read your books. They're fascinating," Alice confessed. "There's no way I'm going to give up on my work. I can't, not really. I'll always have Sherlock there, bringing in cases. Besides, he'll track clients into the flat and bring home evidence, and all of that. I'm never going to get away from it, not really. And I would never want to."

As a swell of music began, Mrs. Holmes checked her phone again. "It's time." Alice nodded to her, squeezing her hand as they left the room together, Mrs. Holmes heading for the chapel while Alice found Mr. Holmes waiting for her. He smiled, taking her arm and leading her into the chapel.

Alice looked over the crowd, seeing that Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes were crying already. John was beaming beside Sherlock, and Mary sat close by, holding Rosie in her lap. She smiled at the crowd, glancing over at the photographer (who had been rigorously background checked to avoid any potential murders) before looking to Sherlock, who was waiting for her. He bit his lip, smiling a bit. As she took her spot, Alice noticed that his eyes had grown misty, just enough that she could tell. "Hi," he smiled.

"Hi," Alice smiled at him, taking his hand as the preacher began to talk. Neither of them heard the words that well, not paying much attention to anyone else but each other. They repeated their vows, half of the chapel recording them.

As the chaplain nodded to Sherlock, telling him that "you may kiss the bride", he pulled Alice close, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a kiss. The crowd erupted into cheers, even Rosie waving and babbling at them from where she sat with Mary. Mr. Holmes was tearing up, Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Holmes holding each other as they cried. John and Mary were beaming. Lestrade was giving them a standing ovation. Even Mycroft was clapping in approval.

Sherlock noticed none of this. _Don't let go of her. After all you've done, after all the pain you've caused, she's the one good thing you've got. Her and John. The two best things that have ever happened to you. And the baby. You're finally getting your life in order. You won't be alone._

Alice let go of him, grabbing his hand and raising them in the air in victory, letting the photographer snap a couple of pictures before turning to the wedding party. "Congratulations, Mrs. Holmes." John pulled her into a hug as Mycroft got up to shake hands with his brother. They would all be heading to the reception hall soon, but first, it seemed like everyone was flooding them with congratulations.

Halfway through the dinner, Alice could tell that Sherlock was getting tired of people. By the time their first dance came around, he looked like he was going to snap at someone, be it a waiter or a guest. As they whirled around the dance floor, Alice whispered, "I know you're done with the whole associating with people thing, but it's just a few more hours. Besides, this is the party part. Just smile and nod, say thank you to everyone. We'll be done soon."

"Remind me why we let Anderson bring members of his club," Sherlock said, looking over her shoulder to where a cluster of gusts were excitedly filming or broadcasting live footage on their Facebook feeds. "And why my brother bothered to come if he's spending all of his time on the phone."

"Anderson's always been nice to us, and we needed more people to fill the hall. Neither of us has a whole lot of family. Besides, the Scotland Yard crew balances them out. As for mycroft, he's doing something for work, like always. Arguing with someone who's somewhere called Sherrinford. It sounds like one of the government facilities that he runs." They spun towards the other end of the room, Alice continuing in a low voice. "We'll be out of here in a bit. We've got a hotel room full of desserts and a murder mystery waiting for us."

Sherlock smiled for the camera, replying as soon as they had turned away from the photographer. "Pajamas, wine, and a murder documentary?" Alice nodded. "Then that's the only thing keeping me sane now."

Hours later, they said their goodbyes to everyone, leaving the party and heading off to a hotel. Both of them hadn't wanted to go anywhere other than Baker Street, but Mrs. Hudson had insisted. As the rest of the party waved, both of them let out a sigh when the car pulled away from the reception hall. "Is it a good murder?" Sherlock asked, looking over to his wife.

Alice nodded. "The best kind. Unsolved."

While tabloid newspapers spent their night going wild over the Sherlock Holmes wedding story, whipping up articles and trying to find leaked footage or photos, Sherlock and Alice sat in bed, eating ice cream and watching a murder documentary. They eventually fell asleep watching the crime chanel, Sherlock sleepily predicting the killer two minutes into each show.

Everyone knows that there are some things that can only be talked about at night. Safe, wrapped in blankets and in darkness, there are conversations that can only be had at 3 in the morning. Some things, that you can never discuss with anyone, that you've never allowed yourself to discuss with anyone, come out in the darkness. Alice and Sherlock had that kind of conversation on their wedding night.

Sherlock had woken up in the middle of the night in a panic again, looking around and seeing that he wasn't at Baker Street. _No. Alice is here. It's okay._ She sat up with a yawn, almost instinctively waking up with him. "What's wrong?" Alice reached over, taking his hand as he sat up, running the other hand through his hair.

"I… I don't know. It felt like I was drowning. There was this girl, she must have been six or seven, but she was holding me underwater. But then she laughed, and turned into Moriarty, and then I was you and I couldn't stop her - Moriarty or this girl or whomever she was," he said, the deluge of words just flooding out. Alice moved over in bed to wrap her arms around him, Sherlock confessing, "It feels like I remember her… like that was something that actually happened. It can't have, but it feels like… my dad told me I'd almost drowned in a boating accident as a child. But this girl looked so real."

"Well you're on dry land now," Alice told him, laying her head on the detective's shoulder. "You're on dry land, in a hotel, here with me. You're not drowning, and you're perfectly safe. It's okay."

"I'm sorry, it's stupid. And it's unfair to you. This is your wedding night, after all," he apologized, kissing the top of her head.

"No, it's okay. This is exactly how I'd want to spend it, Sherlock. With you, eating junk food and watching murder mysteries. This is just part of being with you. It's all okay," she assured him, clicking on one of the lamps next to the bed. He looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept properly in a while. "Do you want something else to think about?"

"What do you mean?"

Alice smiled at him, saying, "I know it's early, but I've had some tests done. They're really more of an educated guess than a real conclusion, but… we're having a son. Probably."

"That's… that's great," he smiled, pulling Alice close. "They know this early?"

She nodded, saying, "They've got tests they can do that'll tell you pretty early. It's not conclusive, but that's what they think. We're having a son, Sherlock."

He buried his face in her hair, murmuring, "Thank you. For everything. For not giving up on me. For putting up with all of my… nonsense. For our son. Thank you."


	35. Chapter 35

"You're sure you're ready?" Sherlock asked, watching Alice button up her coat.

She nodded, checking her watch. "Bulletproof vest, gun, earpiece, mobile fully charged," she listed, checking everything over. "I'm ready. The princess gets picked up in an hour. Time for me to go."

Sherlock smiled sadly, getting up from his chair. He wrapped his arms around her, saying, "Good luck. Not that you'll need it, but good luck. Be careful, will you?"

"Of course," Alice told him, giving him a kiss. "You be careful around here. I won't be home for a couple of days, remember. So you're going to have to remember to eat and do your laundry. Mrs. Hudson's going to be by, but you'll have to remember, okay? And don't forget to walk and feed Chester."

"Anything else?" he joked, walking with her to the door.

"I think that's it. Everything's written down on the fridge."

"You know we're going to have to tell Lestrade soon." Sherlock looked down at her stomach, which was beginning to visibly grow.

"After this mission, okay? It's one of the most important things I've been assigned to in a while. Well, one of the most important things where everyone involved has still been breathing. Now I really do have to go. Bye, Sherlock. I love you."

"Love you too." He gave her a final kiss, watching Alice jump into a cab and speed down the street.

As she flew towards the airstrip that Sherlock had briefly left them on so long ago, Alice dialed Mycroft. "Alpha team is moving out," he told her. "They're meeting you at the airstrip. You should have her in the car by 0800."

"Got it," Alice nodded, directing the cabbie to turn. "She's meeting up with Alpha team and will be there by the time you rendezvous with them. It's just a diplomatic mission, so you shouldn't face too much of a threat from foreign entities." He paused, adding, "Has Sherlock… mentioned anything out of the ordinary to you?"

"Out of the ordinary? Everything's a little out of the ordinary with him. But no, not that I can think of. I've got to get going. We're almost there. Thanks for the wedding gifts, by the way. I trust greg picked them out, but thank you either way." She hung up, tucking her phone into her pocket as they pulled up to the airstrip.

A motorcade of heavily armed vehicles was waiting by an airplane, which a woman was exiting quickly. She looked around a bit before ducking into one of the vehicles, Alice following immediately behind her. As she tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear, she shook the woman's hand. "Princess Samaira, Your Majesty, I'm Alice Holmes. I've been assigned to stick with you for the next couple of days."

"Holmes?" the princess asked as the car doors were locked and they began to move. "Like Sherlock Holmes? I've followed John Watson's blog for a bit now. He's mentioned a woman named Alice who works with Scotland Yard. But I do love the mysteries."

Alice smiled as they turned onto a main road. "The very same. He's my husband. We work together a fair amount too."

"My fiance is a government minister. I can understand that," the princess nodded, looking out of her window. "We are headed to Downing Street, yes?"

"We are," Alice nodded as they passed a few kids who had begun pointing at the motorcade. "You'll meet with one of our government officials, the man named Mycroft who coordinated everything for the visit. Then we'll be headed to the official royal reception at Buckingham Palace, take tons of pictures, and the like. That's where all the press will be, but Downing Street is first."

They arrived quickly, Mycroft meeting them at the door. That was rare for him, but he always did have a weakness for the dramatic, and being seen with royalty perfectly played up to it. "Your Majesty," he nodded, kissing her hand. "It's my pleasure to finally have you here in Britain."

"It is wonderful to meet in person at last, Mycroft," she beamed, following him into the building. Alice was close behind, nodding to Mycroft in greeting. They trailed him into an old-fashioned oak-panelled office, where they took their seats and began to discuss the princess' itinerary. Alice stood directly behind her, zoning out of the conversation. Every few minutes, she would tune in, hear a few words about scheduling, and then go back to looking out of the window.

As Mycroft was outlining details of a trip down to Piccadilly Circus, Alice's phone buzzed. She glanced down to check it, seeing that it was from Sherlock.

 _Rich kid found dead in car wreck. On gap year in Nepal at same time. - SH_

 _Can't. Sounds interesting tho. Princess, remember? - A_

 _Be careful. - SH_

 _You too. Love you. - A_

 _Love you too. - SH_

"Alice?" Mycroft cleared his throat. She looked up to see him raising an eyebrow. "Thoughts?"

"Sounds like a good plan. Are we all ready to head over to Buckingham Palace?" She tucked her phone back into her pocket as the others stood, Mycroft collected his briefcase, Alice catching a glimpse of his schedule before he put his planner away. In a scrawling script, there were two words she was instantly curious about. " _Call Sherrinford_ ".

In the car, a quick search for Sherrinford yielded nothing in the general Internet. However, after she had broken the MI6 encryption codes, she found a bit more about the mysterious person. Or place. Sherrinford, she gathered, was a more than maximum security facility on an island off of the coast. It housed some of the most dangerous people one could imagine. And to Alice, it sounded fascinating. _The three cannibals are housed on level two. Serial killers escaped from prison on level one. Patient 1 housed on maximum security level. Special note: Do not approach without proper precautions. File admin: Mycroft Holmes._

Alice spent the rest of the drive trying to find out more about the special case file, but all she could manage to find was that it's encryption boiled down to "The East Wind". There was an encryption key somewhere, but she didn't have enough time to crack it. There would be time later, while they were driving back from the palace. But for now, they had to face the press. And the queen.

They passed through security easily, skirting around the back of the palace as the front was flooded with reporters and people with cameras, plus the occasional passerby who were realizing that it was a special day. By now, Alice was used to the security. She waved at a few of the guards, ones that she had worked with on previous cases. As they jumped out of the vehicle, she took her place by Princess Samaira's side, walking into the palace on camera.

Mycroft lead them into a grand office, where they would be meeting the queen. Of course, Alice had been there before, but it was still a beautiful place. She took her spot behind the princess' golden chair, holding her hands behind her back in a classic soldier's pose. She wouldn't move throughout the entire meeting, except to bow a bit in deference when Her Majesty entered the room.

Instead of paying attention, Alice looked over the room, at the other people sent to guard the princess and her attendants. Two of them had arrived on the plane with the diplomats, but the other two had been commissioned by MI6. One was a woman that she had worked with once before, an ex-army captain named Julie. The other was a man that she didn't recognize. _Military intelligence training. Travelled a lot. Moved back here for contracts. Eats mustard on sandwiches. No close family ties. Bullet wound in right leg. Owns a cat. Reliable but untrustworthy._

They were back in the motorcade soon after the press were let in to take pictures, Alice helping the princess duck into her car as they were being hounded by reporters. She saw Kitty Riley in the crowd, giving her a directed glare. Her phone buzzed as she buckled her seatbelt, but there was no chance to check it until they were well on their way to an embassy, the next stop on the diplomatic tour. It was an email, sent to both her and Sherlock from an anonymous address.

 _You may want to watch the evening news, Mr. Holmes. It will be of particular interest to you. I can't wait to see how you work it out. Good luck finding her._

Alice frowned, trying to search the address and finding nothing. A new message popped up as she was trying to backtrack through the server to see if she could find a location on the email.

 _I know you, Sherlock. I know who you are. What you are. I bet it's not even yours. Maybe John Watson…? He's far nicer, and has far different feelings on the matter, I'm sure. You'd better find out before you drum up a double homicide._

Mycroft looked over to her, Alice saying, "It's nothing. Possibly a lead on a case that we've been working on down at the Yard. I've got to tell Greg." She went back to her phone to see that there was a final message waiting for her, again from the same anonymous sender.

 _Remember the old story? The East Wind is coming, and it will lay waste to all that lies in its path. It begins soon. Good luck._

Alice had little time to reply as they jumped out at the embassy, again going through the motions of exchanging greetings and taking pictures. This time, Princess Samaira gave an interview and an address, allowing reporters to ask questions. It was on Alice to make sure that they didn't get too close or press too much into tense international relations issues, which wasn't too difficult. Her mind kept drifting to the emails they had gotten, and if Sherlock had seen them yet. He was out investigating the case of a man found dead in England while he was reported living in Nepal, so there was a chance that he hadn't seen it yet. But if he did, there would be a new case, she was sure. She would have to call him about it from the hotel that night, no matter what.

The sun was setting as they departed for a state dinner, the princess having changed into an evening gown. Alice was still in all black, her bulletproof vest growing heavy for a day's wear. Her gun was still by her side, and she had plenty of other weapons tucked into her belt, her boots, her pockets, literally everywhere. She was a walking armory, fully prepared for almost anything. Except for what happened as they were headed for their hotel.

The state dinner took a while, what with having reporters there and policy to discuss. Alice herself had to wolf down a sandwich in the kitchen before switching off with another bodyguard who was waiting for dinner. They weren't allowed to eat with the diplomats, and instead had to stand there formally, waiting for something to happen. So each one would take their turn ducking into the kitchen, grabbing whatever food they could locate. Mycroft was dining with the diplomats, of course. But Alice was fine with it, having worked plenty of these missions before.

She was itching to check her phone but there was no chance to do it in front of the cameras. It would have been all over the news if she did, the inattentive guard following the princess' visit. She glanced at it in the car, but there were other things to attend to. Mycroft had left them for Downing Street, saying he would meet up with their delegation again in the morning.

Their driver had made a wrong turn on the way to the hotel, stopping on the side of a road to check his GPS. As Alice leaned forward to check on him and see what was going on, one of the other bodyguards, the man she hadn't met before, reached over. She felt a pinch and saw him pulling his arm back. It seemed like the hypodermic needle was moving in slow motion as she fell into the door, losing consciousness as the princess was drugged. _The emails. This is what they were warning you about. Sherlock. Text Sherlock. He'll be worried._


	36. Chapter 36

The world was black when Alice woke up. One small, fuzzy light was flickering on the corner of the room. She felt around for her glasses, finding them sitting next to her. The light turned out to be an old television set, turned on to BBC News, which was running a story about the princess' visit. The motorcade had been rerouted, but it seemed like they had made it to the hotel. The princess had given a statement afterwards. _I'm the only one that's gone. They didn't want her. They want me._

Alice stood in the light of the television, looking around and taking stock of where she was. It seemed like a small basement room, with a cot and one light bulb on a string. It was turned off for now. The television was an old model, something less technologically advanced than anyone would have been used to in this day and age. Her gun was gone. Her phone had also been taken, along with all of her other weapons. And the bulletproof vest. A box of granola bars sat on top of the television, along with a takeaway cup of water. _How long have I been out?_

The date stamp on the news said that it was early in the morning the next day. 8:02 AM. She had been out for nearly ten hours. "Reports of the princess' motorcade veering off track have been confirmed. The only person reported missing is an MI6 agent. The organization has issued a statement saying that they are on the case and will have her back soon. Meanwhile, the princess is continuing on her diplomatic mission as scheduled."

Sherlock. Sherlock must have noticed by now that she hadn't called, that she wasn't on the mission anymore. Or Mycroft would have told him. Someone must have let him know that she was missing. But why? And who was it that would want to kidnap her and not the princess? The list was relatively small, since most people would kidnap for money.

The door creaked open, a burly man with a military gait walking in. "Holmes. Attention."

Alice reflexively turned, standing at attention. The man's face wasn't illuminated well, but she could see a large scar that spread from the corner of his eye across his forehead. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

With alarming speed, he reached out and slapped her. "You will speak when spoken to."

"Well, you've spoken to me, Sir. So now I'm-" This time, she could taste blood.

"You're being held for information. Again, you will speak when spoken to. You will sleep when we say sleep, you will eat when we allow you to eat. My advice is to make your provisions last. If you try to escape in any way, or resist at all, you will be punished. She will accept none of that. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir," she told him contemptuously. "Who is she?"

"You will ask no questions."

"That's enough," a woman's voice said, a shadowy figure descending the stairs. "Go back up. I can handle her." The man nodded, retreating upstairs. Alice got a good look at him as he left, trying to memorize every detail so they could hunt him down later. The woman who was facing her now had reddish hair, an even smile, and a face that was abnormally blank. Something looked off. Maybe it was a wig? "Hello, Alice, dear. I've been watching you."

"Who are you?"

She flinched as the woman reached out for her. "Don't worry, dear. He's all talk, I assure you. At least, he will be as long as you cooperate. But as for me, I'm your friend. I just want to talk."

"Who are you?" Alice demanded.

"You can call me Faith."

"The East Wind," Alice mumbled. "'The East Wind is coming'. That's what the message said. Eurus?"

"Very good," the woman crooned. "I knew you had to be good. If he's taken by you, you must be something special. I couldn't resist seeing it for myself."

Alice was searching for information, asking questions to fish out details about who this woman was, what she was planning, and how she knew Sherlock. "What do you mean?"

"Sherlock Holmes," the woman circled her, looking her over. "He's good, I know. But to attract his attention, I knew you must have been something. I wanted to see for myself. See how you tick. Sherlock… you just have to give him a puzzle and watch him dance. I want to see how well you stack up. And get some information from you, of course. I want you to tell me about him."

"In exchange for what?" she asked defensively. "Eurus - that's your name, isn't it - what's in it for you? Why do you want to know about him? Are you one of those rabid fans?"

"Look at me, dear. Really look. What do you think?"

"I think that's not your natural hair color, and the contacts aren't helping much. I think you're a psychopath, willing to manipulate people for your own gain. You want to study them. You don't suppress your emotions - you simply don't have many of them. I'd wager a guess that you're on a watch list, and you don't want me to know what you look like. That's what the disguise is for. You want information on Sherlock, so you're either a great criminal or someone who's obsessed with him. I'd also wager a guess that you're working with Lord Moran," Alice finished.

Eurus nodded. "Good, good. Very impressive. I can see why he likes you."

"What do I get if I help you?" Alice asked, crossing her arms. "You want my help, you want information,you want to watch me work, but what do I get?"

"I won't kill your friends," Eurus smiled like a shark circling its prey.

"Good luck with that. How do I know you could?"

"Wellll," Eurus told her matter-of-factly, "I control a team that kidnapped you from a princess' motorcade. On its way to a supposedly safe location, in the middle of London. If I can pull that off, and make sure the media doesn't focus on it too much, what makes you think I couldn't off your friends one by one?" She paused for a moment before adding, "And I can starve you. I can have them hurt you. I can have them impact something a lot more valuable to you than your own life."

Alice put a hand to her stomach, glaring at the woman. "Okay. What do you want?"

Eurus laid out a simple plan. "I am going to give you a situation. You solve it in time or something bad will happen. It's simple. There will be emotional prompts along the way. And I would much appreciate it if you could tell me what you're feeling, since it's hard for me to tell sometimes. There was this one night, before they took me away… I made my brother laugh all night. Well, not really. It turned out he was screaming. It's hard to tell the difference, sometimes. I'll have the first thing down to you in a bit." Eurus turned away, heading up the stairs. She stopped at the door, adding, "You know this is locked, right? There's no chance of getting out unless we want you to get out, dearie."

Alice sat on the cot, taking stock of what was happening. _There are at least three of them, plus Eurus. They've been brainwashed, reprogrammed to listen to her every command. But she can't have been in hiding her entire life. She must have been held somewhere. Sherrinford? Maybe she was Mycroft's Mysterious Patient One. Yes, that made sense. But first, you have to get out. Make a weapon. Play into their hands, make sure they think you're obeying. Get word to the outside._ Survival strategies flashed into her mind, Alice looking around the room. The cot or the television could be taken apart easily and fashioned into a weapon. Dealing with the guards would be a different story.

Sherlock was just waking up after a nap that had turned into real sleep. He checked his phone, seeing nine missed calls from Mycroft, but none from Alice. That was odd, she had said she would call every night. A cough came from the corner, Sherlock taking a second for his eyes to adjust to the light as the figure stood up. Mycroft had been waiting for him, looking grim. "I have bad news. Last night, Alice's motorcade was carjacked. They drugged everyone and left the cars in the middle of London. She was the only one taken."

Sherlock blinked, his heart beating in his throat. "Alice?"

Mycroft nodded. "There's been no communication, no ransom, no notes. Nothing. We've had phone and radio silence on the matter. They thought I should be the one to tell you."

"Right." Sherlock stood, grabbing his coat and a cold cup of tea that he had left out from the night before. "Take me to where they took her."

"You don't want a shower? Or at least time to brush your teeth and comb your hair?"

"No. Let's go."

"Sherlock," Mycroft warned. His brother sighed dramatically before disappearing into his bedroom for a moment.

When he returned, he gestured dramatically, saying, "I even put on fresh clothes. Are you proud, big brother?"

"Ring John Watson," Mycroft instructed as they got into a cab. He tossed Sherlock his phone, which he hadn't noticed was stolen.

Sherlock obeyed, having no idea what else to do. He relayed the story on to John, telling him everything. John promised to meet them at the scene. He was waiting when they jumped out of the cab, cups of coffee in hand. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock." He handed over a cup, saying, "Black, two sugars. They have no idea what happened?"

"They were drugged," Mycroft explained as Sherlock began ferreting around in the bushes. "The driver and one of the other bodyguards were in on the plan. When the princess and the other bodyguard - the one that wasn't in on it - came to, the others were gone. All we can put together is that they want Alice for some reason. I have everyone on the case, but no one's found anything."

Sherlock jumped back out of the bushes, announcing, "They pulled off of the main road as everyone was drugged. I expect you'll find the hypodermic needles in the car if you haven't already. They were over here for just long enough… another car pulled up and they piled in, went back on the main road, and drove off. It's the same model as a classic cab, meaning it could've been any one of them or a car just like it. The tire treads are the same over there." He pointed, directing their attention to the dirt on the side of the road. "See? Now, why would they take her? High-level government employee who's close to other government officials, knows state secrets, can hack into MI5 and MI6 databases, and knows me rather well… any guesses?"

John shook his head, saying, "Sherlock, it could be anyone from Moriarty's network to a rogue terror cell that's looking for information and knows that she's the one to get it from."

Sherlock addressed his brother. "Have you looked at the CCTV footage?"

"CCTV?" John asked, taking a sip of his coffee as he looked the area over. "The cameras wouldn't be facing an off-roads area like this."

Mycroft thought differently. "They were, since they were on the princess' route. But they went black all over the area at the same time as the car veered off of its route. Whoever did this knows about the system and how to get into it."

"What are we supposed to do then?" John wanted to know. "My friend's been kidnapped. God, his wife's been kidnapped! We were told we have to sit around and wait for Moriarty's network to make a move, and look what's happened! We need to take a more active approach to this, Mycroft!"

Mycroft simply shook his head, pulling John aside as Sherlock went back to the bushes, looking to see if he could come up with any theories. "Watch out for him," Mycroft instructed, lowering his voice as he glanced back towards his brother. "Make sure he doesn't go back to using again, will you? I have a rather delicate matter of national security to deal with." John nodded, even though he was still boiling with rage.

That night, Alice was sitting on her cot, watching the news. She hadn't made a full plan yet, but she knew that she was going to have to play along with Eurus if she ever wanted a chance to get out. If she got bored, Eurus would probably have her killed. The reporter was talking about sports, but they soon switched to a missing persons case. "The woman disappeared in Greater London, on her way home from Buckingham. Exact details cannot be released, since she was on a government assignment with MI6, but official reports say that they are looking for a woman of average height with red hair, glasses-" The screen went fuzzy, a tape of Moriarty coming on screen.

"Hello there," he smiled, the lighting turning red. "I hope you're feeling well. I'm quite sure Sherlock is not."

Alice bit her lip, staring at the screen, unblinking. Eurus' image appeared, replacing the demented smile of Moriarty. "Hello, Alice, dear. Here's your first case. You'll solve it quickly if you want something more to eat than granola bars that taste rather like cardboard. A man was found dead with a cassette tape in his left hand, and a gun in the other. When the police played the tapes, they heard him give a speech, followed by a gunshot. But they knew it was a murder right off. How?"

"Who rewound the tape?" Alice asked immediately.

The image of Eurus nodded. "Very good. I'll have one of the boys bring you something from a takeaway place. Maybe some chips, hmm? Save them, though, because I have no idea when I'll feel like feeding you again."

The television screen went back to the news, Alice finally letting go of the breath that she had been holding. They knew she was gone. It would only be a matter of time. She turned to look as the door creaked open, someone tossing in a bag of chips before shutting and locking it. Alice gave it a moment before getting up to grab the bag, knowing that she was being watched. As she ate, she thought of Baker Street, of the nursery that they had just finished decorating, of Sherlock, who was probably frantic by now. _John had better be taking care of him. If he ever needed John Watson, it's now. Sherlock, you'd better not do anything stupid._


	37. Chapter 37

As Sherlock tore through the London streets, hunting down another bust of Margaret Thatcher, all he could think of was Alice. Yes, it was an interesting case that he was on, but she had been gone for three days now. Mycroft had found nothing, and Lestrade, though he texted Sherlock updates every few hours, was no more helpful. Instead, he had taken to searching for evidence at night, when he could push his other cases aside and focus on Alice's.

Mrs. Hudson was stoically cleaning the house when he came home that night. She'd cleaned everything, taken Chester for a walk, done the shopping, and cooked meals for the next few days. Now she was cleaning up the kitchen, telling him that, "There are leftovers in the fridge, if you're hungry. I've got a final batch of biscuits in the oven."

The pile of letters on the table went unanswered. Sherlock didn't even glance at them. They had begun to stack up, with Alice gone. Instead, he scratched Chester's ears for a moment before making some tea and dropping down onto the sofa, where he lazily glanced at his phone. "Nothing yet?"

Mrs. Hudson was silent for a moment, before confessing, "Greg was by earlier. He wanted to check up on you. I told him you were out, but I had no idea when you would be back. He… he said not to get your hopes up, but they've found something."

Sherlock bolted up, startling Chester. The dog scuttled over to stand behind Mrs. Hudson as Sherlock grabbed his coat and left without another word. He tore down the stairs, jumping into a cab and surprising the cabbie as he demanded to be taken down to Scotland Yard. Lestrade too was surprised when Sherlock burst in, demanding to know what they had found. "I'm sorry, I'll have to call you back," Lestrade said into the phone, hanging up on, "The Detective Inspector over in Drugs-"

"What did you find?" he interrupted, not caring about the Detective Inspector's pleasantries.

"Sherlock-"

"What did you find?" he interrupted again, his hands on the desk as he leaned closer. "Tell me."

Lestrade stood, opening a filing cabinet and taking out a bag of evidence. Silently, he handed it over. Sherlock took the bag quickly, pouring its contents out on the desk. Alice's mobile phone (he recognized the case, plus the scratches on the screen) was the first thing he picked up, tapping in the passcode. It was only four digits, obvious. He scrolled through her messages, through every app he could think of, but found nothing that suggested where she could have been taken. He stuffed it in his pocket, Lestrade not objecting. Yes, it was evidence. But it was Sherlock. You couldn't argue with Sherlock Holmes, especially not in cases like this.

A hair tie, a receipt for a cab - the one Alice had taken to meet Mycroft - and a gum wrapper. Nothing consequential. "They've already checked all of the hospitals and all of the morgues in London. We haven't come up with anything," Lestrade informed him as Sherlock stretched the hair tie absentmindedly. "She's out there somewhere. I'll dredge the river if you want, if we haven't heard anything in a couple more days. I'm sorry, Sherlock." He shook his head sadly, looking out of the window. Sherlock joined him a moment later, clearing his throat.

He took a deep breath before confessing something to the DI. "She's pregnant."

"What?" Lestrade turned to face him, his eyes growing wider in disbelief. "Did you say-"

"She's pregnant," Sherlock sighed, not meeting his eye as they stood together. "A little over three months. She wanted to wait to tell you, for this mission. She was looking forward to it for so long… she thought she would be fine, that it would be a routine visit, and that she would tell you afterwards. Mycroft knew, but of course, he was sworn to secrecy. It doesn't hurt telling you now."

"God." Lestrade shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Lord, this just keeps getting worse. Three months or so? Shit. Do you know what it is yet?"

"We can't be sure, but early tests say it's a boy," Sherlock confessed, his voice slightly strained. Lestrade picked up on it, but he said nothing. "She's been gone for days. The likelihood of finding her is already nearing naught. I've got to do something, but there's nothing… I haven't slept more than a few hours every day, I've barely eaten, I - sorry. I should get back on the case." Sherlock swallowed, put his mask back up, and left quickly, not making eye contact with the Detective Inspector. As he walked out of the Scotland Yard buildings, Lestrade texted John, telling him what had happened.

It was cold when Alice woke up. The news was still on, but she had tuned it out most of the time. It had become background noise, even though Alice checked the screen to see what time it was. Or what day it was. Or if there were any updates on her case, even though it had quickly become old news. This time, she saw that it was nearing ten in the morning. Her stomach growled as she reached for half of a granola bar. She'd been rationing them, but Eurus rarely gave her anything else to eat.

The light bulb flickered on as a burly man entered, handed her a piece of paper, and walked out without a word. The television screen flickered, Eurus appearing over the news. "You have been given some details about a rather famous case. This boy drowned in the Bristol Swimming Pool South, even though he was a great swimmer, best in his age group. All I'm giving you is a picture of his shoes. Tell me how he died." She paused for a second, adding, "The temperature of the room will be lowered every minute, until you solve it. So get ready… go!"

The BBC came back on as Alice looked down at the paper. A pair of trainers was printed in color, in the best definition possible on an office printer. Alice stood, pacing the room as she thought. "The design is rather old, 1980s. Laces have been changed a whole lot,and with plenty of effort to keep them clean. The kid cared about them a lot. There are skin flakes on here, looks like the kid had a skin problem. Not uncommon among swimmers, but I'd say it's eczema. The clue's got to be in the shoes, right? God, it's getting cold." She paused, noticing that she could see her breath. Eurus had turned the temperature down until she was practically standing in a meat locker. "Skin cream, that's how it had to be delivered. He drowned. Something that was a paralytic, then." Alice rubbed her arms, trying to warm up. "Bristol Swimming Pool drowning, I've heard of this. It was Carl Powers, wasn't it? One of Sherlock's first cases. Botulinum poisoning. It was mixed in with the skin cream, stopped his muscles, and stopped him breathing. They thought it was a drowning because of the water in his lungs, it was too obvious. There's your answer."

She waited, looking around the room. There had to be a microphone hidden somewhere, and probably a camera as well. "That's your answer, are you happy?"

"How do you feel?" The voice was eerie, coming from a speaker somewhere above her. "Other than cold, I mean. I can understand cold."

"I'm freezing," Alice said through gritted teeth. "I'm hungry. It's been days since you've given me anything close to real food."

"Do you miss your husband?" Eurus asked blankly. "I know you're rather attached to him."

"Of course," Alice told her shortly. "Of course I miss him. Now you're not going to get many more answers unless you send some food down here." She took a seat on the cot and wrapped herself in the thin blanket she'd been given, thinking that she could freeze for longer than she could go without something to eat.

Sherlock woke up in an old building, looking around and realizing what had happened. He had met up with Mary, who had admitted what 'A.G.R.A.' was - a freelance task force hired out by the government and the filthy rich. _I've been drugged. She's gone. Mary's run off. John needs to know, she's probably not even in the country any more. What if Alice isn't in the country? No, she's got to be here. It wouldn't make sense to threaten me with if she was out of the country. Mary, you've got to let John know about Mary. What time is it?_

Lestrade was sitting at his desk, looking over London as the sun went down. Alice had been missing for over a week now, and there were almost no leads. Even Sherlock was stumped. There had been no contact from her kidnappers, and they couldn't do anything but wait and try to hunt down shadows. Sherlock had advocated for searching in every possible place he could think of (the list was extensive), but no one had the time or resources for that. Lestrade sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. It was going to be another long night. There were a couple of case files to review and sign off on before they went down to Records for closing, four or five emails to write, and then he was planning on looking into Alice's case. No one had seemed to want to work on anything else, even though it wasn't really their division. So a few of them had committed to staying after hours and getting some work done, no matter how little progress they made.

Lestrade had begun working on the case on his own, but soon he had been joined by members of the Yard and outsiders alike. So that night, like the past few, there was a knock on his door. Sally Donovan stepped inside, looking exhausted from a long day out in Kent, investigating a string of robberies. She was followed by Anderson, who had insisted on helping. He set a box of donuts on the desk, grabbing one for himself as Molly Hooper came in, shedding her coat and hanging it near the door. "I'll have to go soon," she told them as he took a seat. "John needs me to pick up Rosie."

"Right. What have we got?" Lestrade asked them all, reaching for a donut. "Thanks, Phil."

"I went through the cameras again," Donovan told them. "There's three lined up on the road they should have come off on, but they were hacked. I went through every possible alley and road after that, and I'm working on sifting through the footage they all have. There are 46 cameras they could have passed after that first road. I'm going to stay up and sort through it all. I should be done by tomorrow night."

"I'm still talking to everyone who could have been nearby," Bill announced, walking into the room quietly. "Sorry I'm late. Mrs. Landers was telling me her story, but she kept talking in circles. Poor old woman's mind's going." He took his spot and the meeting commenced as they started work that would take until late in the night to finish.

* * *

A.N.: I can't wait to keep writing Eurus. I already have a couple of great lines thought up for her, but she's quickly becoming one of my favorite characters in the show. I'm super excited for it to be on Netflix, tho, bc then I can rewatch it as many times as I want to.


	38. Chapter 38

Sherlock woke up in the middle of the night, seeing that the clock only read 2:26 AM. He had gone to bed a little after midnight, which had been early for him, especially now. He had never gotten out of that university student mentality of going to bed extremely late. Well, until Alice. She had tempered that and had gotten him to go to bed around midnight at least. But now he rarely slept, and when he did, he dreamt of Moriarty, of Magnussen, and of Alice. He could tell that she was still alive (or was that misguided hope?), but it was getting harder and harder to believe as time ticked by. It had been two weeks. Two weeks since he had wished her goodbye and good luck. _What was the last thing I told her?_

He stood, nearly tripping over Chester. The dog had taken to sleeping on the floor, next to Sherlock's side of the bed. He still took a while to settle down every night, since one of the two people he checked for every night had been missing. Sherlock sighed, running a hand through his hair and grabbing his dressing gown.

Mary had been missing for a couple of days now too, but he and John had been tracking her down, plotting moves on a map and trying to predict where she would end up. Now they just had to wait on plane tickets that coincided with when she would be there. Mary would be fine. It was just a waiting game.

Sherlock looked over to Alice's side of the bed, which was still made the way she had left it two weeks before. He sighed again, thinking of the way she would have reached over and grabbed his arm, telling him to go back to sleep. Or she would sit up, give him a hug, and ask what was wrong. He went out into the sitting room, looking through the bay windows, out onto Baker Street. Every time, he would hope that he could see her walking down the street, heading him. But she would never be there. Instead, he would see the darkened road, or one or two people heading to night-shift jobs.

As the clock struck 2:30, he turned to head back to his room, but something caught his eye. It was something Alice had thought she'd gotten rid of long ago, something that had grown more and more tempting every day that she was gone. He had been itching for it, but had resisted for so long now. It had been buried among his science equipment, which is probably why she didn't notice it. He reached out for the silver needle, holding it gently. It was tempting. He was itching for the rush that it gave him, the blurring of reality, the feeling that there was nothing that really needed to be worried about. _Just do it. You need it. Look how much stress you've been under. Do it, Sherlock._

"No," he whispered to himself, striding over to the window, wrenching it open, and dropping the needle into one of the bins set outside, watching it shatter as it hit the bottom. He dropped into the closest chair, smiling wearily to himself. He had beaten it, at least for now. Alice would be proud.

Alice too was awake at 2:30 in the morning, but not by choice. She had been woken up by the guards repeatedly for the past few days. Eurus hadn't been down to visit, but she was often played on the television screen, at least in recordings. "Get on up," one of the regular guards spat, tossing her out of bed. "You're going to talk."

"What do you mean?" She stood, wrapping the blanket around herself to shield against the freezing air. Eurus had never turned the temperature back braced herself as the guard swung, knowing that she had violated the 'don't speak unless spoken to' rule. Again.

"You're going to read exactly what we tell you to, and give no indication that you are in trouble," he instructed as another guard came down the stairs with a video camera. He began to set up a tripod as a chair was pulled over. "We're going to send a message to the government, and you're going to be the one to do it."

They took turns holding up cue cards as Alice read them, coughing in between takes. She had felt sick for a day now, something she attributed to the cold, the low nutritional value of the food they had given her, and the constant stress of being woken up and commanded to work. When the were satisfied, the lights abruptly went out and Alice was told to go back to bed.

She lay awake for a while, thinking of the flat, of Chester, of Sherlock. She pulled her wedding band out of her pocket - it was the only thing she had been able to save from being confiscated. As she had been knocked out, she'd stuffed it into a tiny pocket in her jeans. While all of her weapons had been taken, and her phone had been confiscated, that was the only thing she had left. She'd gotten into a pattern of only wearing it in the dark, so none of the cameras (which she still assumed were there) would pick up on it and the guards wouldn't take it away. She twisted it on her finger, thinking back to when she would have been able to wear it every day. It had only been two weeks - two weeks and a day now.

Eurus had been nearly begging for some sort of emotional response from Alice, but she wasn't going to get it. She would only let herself feel anything at night, when the cameras weren't watching. She would don her wedding ring and let herself think back to the flat, wondering if she was going to ever see it again. Of course she would. She would have to. There was no way she was going to let some madwoman kill her, not now.

She was worried, of course. Worried that something would happen to Sherlock, who would be frantic by now. And worried about the baby. She was sick and hadn't been given a lot to eat, which she knew was bad. She would have to get out soon.

Every time she was woken up, she would roll over, thinking for a second that she would be able to reach over and feel Sherlock there, or at least feel that he had gotten up and was out and about somewhere in the flat. But that second of being half awake would soon end when she felt the void next to her and the freezing air of her basement room. Yes, it must have been some sort of basement. There was nothing there, but the air conditioning worked well, and it had one outlet. It was probably part of a factory, something hidden underground for storage.

Alice closed her eyes, thinking back to their wedding. She and Sherlock had been exhausted by the time the reception was over, and had yawned tirelessly on their way to the hotel. They'd changed into pajamas and dropped into bed late that night.

 _She and Sherlock were sitting there watching murder documentaries and eating dessert. They'd been so busy at the reception that they really hadn't had time to eat much, and "why not have dessert? It's our wedding."_

 _Sherlock smiled as Alice jumped into bed next to him, a plate of chocolate cake in her hand. "Thank you."_

" _For what?" she asked, her mouth half-full of cake._

" _For marrying me. I never thought I'd find anyone I could actually live with and get married to," Sherlock admitted, getting up to get his own piece of cake. "I mean, I'm out at all hours and all of my life is wrapped around my work. I'm not a people person, and I'm not a… well, I'm not like most people are, and my, er, well, my philosophy is that the best use of a bed is for sleeping."_

" _And for cake and murder mystery marathons," Alice added with a grin._

" _And for cake and murder mystery marathons," Sherlock agreed, sitting back down and wrapping an arm around her. He kissed her forehead, taking a bite of the cake. "You know I love you."_

" _I love you too, Sherlock," Alice told him. "I love you so much."_

"I love you so much," Alice mouthed, sitting up on her cot. In that moment, she would have given anything to be back in that hotel room, with Sherlock. And an actual warm bed. And food, real food. Chocolate cake. Her stomach growled as she thought back to memories of Baker Street. Alice bit her lip, trying to stop the flow of tears, but there was no way they could be stopped. "I miss you, Sherlock."

Sherlock was exhausted the next day, but he was instantly woken up by an envelope that Mrs. Hudson brought in. He and John had been sitting in the living room, working out flight plans to intercept Mary, when she came in with the mail. "It's a bit late, I know, but the shop took forever. You've got a few letters, Sherlock, and an envelope with nothing written on it." She handed everything over, Sherlock dropping the rest of the mail on the ground and ripping open the unlabeled envelope.

Inside was a DVD, simply labeled "watch me" in permanent marker. He nearly leapt off of the sofa and turned the television on. As a picture of Alice flickered onto the screen, John asked if he should stay. "It's a personal thing, I know. You're sure you want me here?"

"You're family," Sherlock insisted. "And she's your friend. Stay."

He was silent as they watched, but John could tell that eh wasn't too pleased. Alice looked sick, much paler than usual, It looked like she was freezing, even wrapped in a blanket. He couldn't make out much of her stomach, but it looked like she was still growing steadily. "Hello, Sherlock. It's me. I'm alive, I promise." Her voice was flat, like she was reading from a script. "They're telling me to say that… that you shouldn't come looking for me, or you'll be in much more trouble, I'll be fine, but when they want you, they'll make sure you know. You'll meet them soon enough. I'm fine, I promise. We're fine."

Sherlock was watching her eyes, seeing if she was blinking anything out. There was no code there, but he could somewhat see the reflection on her glasses, and sure enough, they were feeding her lines. "Do not come looking for me. I'll be let go once they… once my usefulness has worn out. Don't worry about me, Sherlock. I know you're going to analyze this to see if it's a fake, so they'll show you the television in my room in a second, with the time and date stamp and everything. And so you know it's me - what does that say?" There was a pause while someone in the background gave a distorted answer. "Tell him something personal?" She looked right into the camera, saying, "Vatican cameos. You know what that means, Sherlock. Vatican cameos."

She took a breath and added, "I'm sorry I'm not there, but I'll be fine. Tell the others not to worry, and that you all will be contacted when they need you." The picture cut out abruptly, turning to the television screen scrolling the time and date. Alice's voice could be heard in the background, asking if they were done.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, John turning to ask if he was okay. "Fine," Sherlock answered, twisting his wedding band on his thought for a second before jumping up and exclaiming, "I need it frame-by-frame, but I just might have a lead." As he strode over the table, Mrs. Hudson and John exchanged a look.

"You're sure everything's alright, dear?" Mrs. Hudson asked, Sherlock stuffing the DVD in his coat and reaching for his scarf.

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," he told her patiently. "The game is on!" John nodded, following him out the door.

Lestrade was at his desk, on the phone with another division, when Sherlock burst in, demanding that he watch the DVD he was waving around. "I'm sorry, I've got to be going," Lestrade said into the receiver as quickly as he could, hanging up and turning to Sherlock and John. "You got one too? It's all addressed to you, right? They sent a copy here too. I've already sent it down for video analysis."

"It's a factory or a warehouse," Sherlock determined a few hours later, standing in front of one of the images, blown up a hundred times on a projector screen. John and lestrade sat in folding chairs a little bit away from the screen, taking in the entire image. "Look at the walls. They're coated in metal, like they're using a rudimentary way of keeping the room cold. It's a lot more likely that they took over an old building than built something like this themselves, especially if they want to avoid attracting attention. There's one light, from what I can tell, which means it's got to be some sort of storage area. And you can see her breath - that means it can get cold, very cold. Not quite a refrigerated room, but something close to it. Or it is a modified refrigerator." He turned to look at the others, announcing that, "I need a list of every abandoned warehouse or factory facility in London."

Lestrade scoffed. "That'll take days. And they told you not to investigate, that they'll release her soon. If you do this on your own-"

"We can narrow them down from right here. I just need a list -"

"Sherlock," John interrupted as the detective continued, looking at his phone.

" - of all of the abandoned warehouses and factories, limited to the ones that could possibly have a refrigerated-"

"Sherlock," John interrupted again, Sherlock turning to look at him in annoyance. "She's gotten on a plane." He held up his phone, a small dot on a map moving steadily away from Europe. "We need to go."

"I'll handle things here," Lestrade promised, standing to switch off the projector as John got up. "He needs you."

Sherlock immediately objected, sounding pained. "But Alice -"

Lestrade interrupted him. "Alice is strong, Sherlock. And you know John can't take on Mary and the man that's following her on his own. Go. I'll make sure she gets back here okay. You'll only be gone for a few days, and it'll take that amount of time to set up a rescue operation, even if we manage to find the place. He needs you. Go."


	39. Chapter 39

A.N.: Celebrating 221 followers on the theredheadedleague Instagram! Thank you all who are following, and thank you to all of my lovely readers. Your feedback is amazing and so valuable. Please keep letting me know what you think, especially as I move away from kind of following the canon, since it's ended (at least for now - the Game is never really over).

Also, on this day 131 years ago, Arthur Conan Doyle picked up a pen and started writing my favorite detective into life. I can't be more thankful for his brilliant brain that created such wonderful stories that continue to bring people together and inspire others to this day. So this is a really special chapter, celebrating 221 followers and Conan Doyle starting to write. I'll stop rambling now and let you read :)

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On the plane, Sherlock could think of nothing but the rescue operation that would soon be underway. He had made Lestrade promise to keep him updated on what was going on, if they had found anything. Lestrade and the others were busy narrowing down the list of possible places Alice could be held in. John was dozing off as they flew over the ocean in the middle of the night, while Sherlock checked his phone again, hoping for any sort of news.

Alice woke up coughing, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders even tighter. She had been sick for days now, and just hadn't been able to warm up. One of the guards had taken pity on her and brought down a bag of takeaway, which Alice had scarfed down greedily, before any of the others could take it away. She'd started to become paranoid about things like that, not trusting any of the concessions that they gave her, even when she "earned" them. It awlays felt like they would take something away as soon as it had been granted. The guard who brought her food hadn't been back down there since - someone had caught him, since he'd forgotten about the cameras in the room. The other guards had refused to give her food after that, since she had "had enough for a few days".

The lights had been flipped on, and the television started playing a message from Eurus. Eurus herself had apparently been busy, not visiting her in person for a couple of days. But her specter still hung over them all, keeping the guards in line and Alice in fear. "Good morning, Alice, dear. I hope you've slept well, but it's time to answer some more questions. First, I want you to tell me about Sherlock. What is he like now? I know he loves you, but how did you two meet? Tell me about him. I've missed so much of his life."

"We met through work," Alice told her simply. "We did a lot of work together. It's fun, running around and seeing what his life is like. Of course, I'm stuck in the office sometimes, but it's nice to be able to work with him, or at least to be able to grab lunch together." She sighed, thinking back to the simpler days, when all they had to deal with was a rogue serial killer or a money launderer. "He isn't too much of a pleasure to work with, from a professional standpoint. He takes over the investigations, commands a room, things like that. But it's nice to see his mind work, to see how he does it…"

"Does he cry? Ever?" Eurus asked flatly. "Do you cry? Not simply at the cases. I mean any time."

"I do," Alice told her matter-of-factly. "Not a lot, of course, but if it really matters, of course. And Sherlock will, but only once or twice. He cried at our wedding. But I'm sure you don't cry. I'm sure you've never felt what it's like to want to cry."

"No, no, I remember the last time I cried. I was six years old, and they were taking me away. Uncle Rudy was the one who did it. I didn't want to leave, but Mum and Dad said that I had to, after the house fire. I cried because I would never be able to finish what I was working on."

"What were you working on?" Alice ventured to ask, shivering.

"Killing my brother. I almost drowned him once, but I got bored with that idea after Dad stopped me," Eurus told her. "Now tell me about what it's like to live with him. Does he remember much from his childhood?" Alice sighed, feeling weaker than ever. But she had to answer, or they would take away another privilege or deny her food for another day.

"Not a lot," she coughed. "But I think it's coming back, in bits and pieces."

Sherlock jerked into consciousness as the plane landed, John already awake and reading a paper next to him. "We're here," John told him, folding up his paper as the plane came to a stop and the flight attendants started to open the overhead storage cabins. He fished their passports out of his coat pocket, making sure they were ready to show the officials at the gate. "Are you sure she'll be here?"

"She's in the marketplace now," Sherlock confirmed, checking the tracker on his phone. "We'll be able to follow her through the market. Let's go."

Alice knew she had to do something. It felt like she was getting pneumonia or bronchitis, something terrible like that. She could feel it in her chest when she coughed, and if Eurus didn't have her woken up, she would wake up coughing every hour or so. If she stayed for much longer, she wouldn't be strong enough to fight her way out. Eurus wasn't there, and the same four guards were on a schedule. The easiest two to overpower were on their shift during the day, meaning they would be tired at night, willing to come downstairs. So she waited.

It was nearing ten o'clock at night, two hours before they would be switching posts, when one of them came down the stairs. "We're going to film another message to Scotland Yard," he told her, turning around to set up the tripod. That was when Alice took her chance, swinging the metal rod she'd wrenched from the cot over his head and knocking him out cold.

"Help! Please, something's wrong! He's fallen, I think he impaled him-" The other guard came running, not seeing Alice waiting in the shadow by the stairs. He too fell quickly, allowing her to dash up the stairs and onto a landing. She would have three minutes maximum until the other guards were alerted, and she assumed they were staying somewhere nearby.

She barred the door as best she could and ran past a pile of rubbish, boxes and tins the guards had eaten out of, past their pile of magazines and their television, which was still broadcasting a rugby game. She tore out of the room into what looked like an abandoned factory, full of meat processing equipment, and finally out onto the street. It was overwhelming, finally being able to be out in the fresh air. It had been weeks since she'd been outside, the moonlight making her smile. Just a few more minutes, and someone would be alerted. _Memorize where you are and how to get back here, then get as far away as you can. Wait, I know where this is. Do I go to Scotland Yard or Baker Street?_

Alice made the split-second decision to go to Baker Street. She would be safer there. As she made her way out onto the main road, the exhaustion finally caught up with her. She hadn't had much sleep or much to eat in the past few weeks, she was getting sicker and sicker, and it was finally all adding up. The adrenaline she had been running on was gone, and she was dying for some sleep.

Mrs. Hudson was about to go to bed when she heard the front door creak open. It did that sometimes, if she forgot to lock it. She ventured down the stairs to lock the door, but stopped at the top of the stairs, aghast. There was a figure there, half falling down. The figure clutched its stomach, holding onto the door frame with its other hand. "Mrs. Hudson? Call Sherlock. And an ambulance." She was much sicker than she thought, having to hold on to Mrs. Hudson for dear life as the landlady was on the phone.

Sherlock and John rushed back to England with Mary in tow, after all had been revealed. They'd booked their airline tickets as soon as Sherlock had gotten off of the phone with Mrs. Hudson, who had called from an ambulance. They would be back in a few hours, but Sherlock was restlessly pacing the aisle in the plane in the meantime. Air travel meant no cell service, so Sherlock was stuck with what free airline WiFi he could mooch from others. He kept trying to get through to Lestrade, but none of his messages or emails were sending. As soon as the plane landed, he jumped out of his seat and was ready to go, even thought hey still had to go through security and show their passports at the gate.

The cab dropped him and John off at Saint Bart's, where Sherlock nearly strong-armed a nurse into telling them where Alice was. He ran up the stairs, John following him as quickly as he could. A doctor stood outside of the door, Sherlock grabbing his arm violently, but soon controlled himself and quietly asked, "What happened to her?"

"Who are you?"

"Her husband. I just got back from a business trip," he lied, pleading with him. "Please. What happened?"

"Scotland Yard was interviewing her a little while ago, but long story short, she'd been kidnapped." The doctor sighed, saying, "I'm going to be honest, she's severely dehydrated, pretty malnourished, and she's lost a lot of weight. And she's got a nasty bronchial infection. The OB/GYN thinks… well, there's a high probability that she'll lose the baby."

John was about to say something when Sherlock rushed into the room, stopping abruptly when he saw her. She looked half dead, her glasses resting on the table next to her. She was terribly pale and kept coughing deeply in her sleep. Even her vibrant ginger hair was faded from the lack of light and nutrients. Alice had been hooked up to several IV lines and monitors, all of which were beeping steadily. Sherlock dropped into the seat next to her bed, taking her hand. As the Scotland Yard agents who had been writing up their report in the silence made their way out of the room, he sighed, kissing her forehead and leaning his head on the pillow beside her to whisper, "I'm so sorry. I'm here, and I'm not leaving. I swear to God, I'm not leaving."

"Are you okay?" John asked, coming into the room slowly.

There was a long silence before Sherlock answered. "No."

They sat with her for almost an hour before Sherlock felt her squeeze his hand lightly. Alice opened her eyes, seeing that she was in a hospital room. She'd been going into shock when she got to Baker Street, and it had been a miracle that she'd made it that far. "Sherlock?" she coughed, reaching for her glasses. "Sherlock?"

"I'm here," he told her, kissing his wife on the cheek. She looked down at her hand, seeing that her wedding ring was still there. "I'm not going anywhere, don't worry."

"Sherlock, she's… she's coming for you." Alice choked out her words, glancing at the monitors. "What… what's happening? Is Charlie… okay?" She looked over to where John was leaning against the wall, the corner of her mouth turning up in a greeting. As she looked back to Sherlock, her grin fell. He looked awful. "Sherlock? Charlie. Is he..?"

"Charlie… they think something's wrong," he told her, Alice putting a hand to her stomach in concern. "They want to do more scans in the morning, but they're letting you rest for now."

A doctor knocked on the door, walking in and shaking their hands. "I'm Dr. Palmer," she smiled. "You must be Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson."

"What's going on?" Alice asked her, the doctor checking her charts. Sherlock rubbed her hand with his thumb, trying to keep her from freaking out as Dr. Palmer broke the news.

"A lot," Dr. Palmer admitted. "We're rehydrating you and pumping you full of nutrients. We're also trying to keep you out of shock. Your son-"

"Charlie."

"Charlie," Dr. Palmer nodded, looking grim. "I think we need more scans to be sure, but you... being held in extreme conditions is never good for a baby, especially not when you're as sick as you are. You may not have realized it when you were starving and sleep deprived, but you were in much worse shape than it seemed. You're getting out of the danger zone slowly but surely, but you could hardly breathe when they brought you in. You were practically dead. A day or two more locked up and you would have died for sure. I have you scheduled for the first set of scans in the morning, at 8 o'clock. For now, though, you need to rest. Nothing too stressful. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, casual conversation only. Please try to keep quiet. I'll be back in the morning."

After she left, John bade them goodnight. He had to get back to Mary and Rosie, who were waiting at home. He pulled Sherlock into the hall, telling him to, "make sure she gets her rest. I'll be back in the morning, okay? And make sure you get some sleep too." He sighed, adding, "It's good to have her back."

Sherlock spent all night by her side, waiting and telling her stories as she slipped in and out of consciousness. He could tell that she was in terrible condition, but he was still glad to have her back. His veins had been itching for the needle that he had thrown away, his mind had been racing, but that was all gone now, quieted by the fact that she was back. Even if she was awfully weak, it was good to have her back. He let go of her hand, Alice watching as he took off his coat, setting it in the chair before gently settling in on the bed next to her. Alice immediately leaned her head on him, Sherlock wrapping an arm around her. "You're nice and warm."

"Thank you, I guess." He ran a hand through her hair, saying, "You don't know how worried I was. I thought I'd never get to see you again."

"I'll be okay," Alice promised, blinking slowly. "I'll be okay. I love you, Sherlock."

"I love you too." Alice was soon asleep, but Sherlock kept talking, telling her all of the random things that came to mind - about cases, about the types of tobacco ash he had been studying, anything and everything, until he too dozed off.

The next morning, Sherlock followed Alice down to the maternity wing, where they sat waiting for an ultrasound machine. As soon as the picture came on the screen, the nurse's face dropped. He called for a doctor, who whispered a few words and nodded urgently. "What's wrong?" Alice asked, looking to Sherlock, who shrugged.

The doctor turned to them, saying, "I'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat. Whatever they did to you, it was too much. We're going to have to operate."

"No," Alice mouthed, Sherlock taking her hand. "No, I… Sherlock… You mean he's… no..."

The doctor shook her head, telling them that, "I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do. We have to operate. As it is, you're at risk. You'll be in more trouble the longer we wait. I can probably get you into an operating theater in about an hour."

The doctor left them alone, Sherlock getting up to hug his wife, who had sat up and started to cry. "I'm sorry," she managed. "I'm sorry, it's my fault. If I hadn't insisted I go on that mission-"

"No," Sherlock assured her. "They would have gotten you no matter what. They were bent on it. Try and remember everything, alright? I'm sure Scotland Yard's already talked to you, but later, when you're better, you'll have to tell me everything. It's not your fault, Alice. I promise."

He stayed with her until he absolutely had to go, and even then waited outside of the operating room. John arrived soon after the surgery began, taking a seat next to the detective. "There was nothing they could do for him?"

"No," Sherlock told him, shaking his head. "They're doing this to save her life. She's going into shock, and hopefully this will stop it. She's already more than half dead, John." He sighed, dropping his head into his hands. "They think she'll be okay once they finish, but there's always a chance. And Charlie...there's no way. They have to do this to save her."

"I'm so sorry," John said with a sigh, watching Sherlock lean back against the wall. "I'll stay here as long as you need. Mary's gone to Molly's with Rosie. They're going to come by later, Mary and Molly. And Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade promised he'd bring Mycroft too."

"That's nice." The words slipped from his mouth absentmindedly as he watched the top of Dr. Palmer's head moving around in the operating room. They said little until she came out of the room, Sherlock jumping up.

Dr. Palmer gave a tense smile, announcing, "She's doing okay. All stitched up. She'll be moved to Recovery and then back to her room, where you can see her. We can't have you waiting around in Recovery, but you can wait in her room, if you want. But there is something else you have to know, something she'll need to know..."

They ended up waiting in her room, John going to the cafeteria and coming back with coffees for the both of them. He found Sherlock looking out of the room's window, saying nothing. John set his cup down, taking a seat. He knew what he had to do now, what he always did when Sherlock got quiet like this. All he could do was wait and hope the detective would come back to the same plane of reality soon. Sherlock, on the other hand, was not lost in his mind palace. He was concentrated on the fact that Alice was alive, that she was pulling through the surgery. It would be terribly difficult to explain to her what had happened, what they had had to do, when she woke up, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it. For now, though, he was just glad that she was alive.


	40. Chapter 40

It was dark out by the time Alice came to, looking around her room. For just a second, she had worried that she was in the bunker, the basement that she had been housed in. The setting sun threw shadows across the room and onto the figure that was perched on top of the side table. He jumped up as soon as he saw her eyes open, dropping into the chair by her bedside. "Hey," Sherlock smiled, Alice reaching for his hand. "How do you feel?" Alice blinked a few times, trying to sit up. "No, no, no, don't," Sherlock coaxed, grabbing her shoulder before she could move too much. "Dr. Palmer wants you to move as little as possible for a bit. She'll be in soon."

"I'm exhausted," Alice admitted. She already sounded better, since she had been hooked up to an IV for hours, and was no longer incredibly dehydrated or missing a ton of nutrients. "How are John and Mary? Did they all get back okay? Lestrade told me they-"

"They're fine," Sherlock passed on to her. "They were by earlier, while you were in surgery. John stayed here for a while, but he had to leave for work." He sighed, squeezing her hand. "There's something they want me to tell you."

"What?" Alice asked, rubbing her eyes and reaching for her glasses.

Sherlock usually had no problem telling people terrible news. He had delivered messages about murdered relatives, grisly truths that ruined people's lives, and careers. But this was one of the most difficult things he had ever had to tell anyone. "Dr. Palmer and the rest of the surgeons… they saved your life. But they had a lot of work to do. You already know they couldn't save Charlie." Alice nodded sadly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "They had a couple of problems while they were working and they had to, er, do a bit of extra work."

"Sherlock, what did she tell you?" Alice begged to know. "Just tell me."

"They had to… You're not going to be able to have kids. Ever."

He watched as she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Sherlock, you know I… you know I didn't, we didn't plan on having a kid in the first place. And you know with my line of work, it wouldn't have been terribly easy… it's okay. We can always, if we want to have a kid one day, we can adopt, we can-"

"You're crying," Sherlock oh-so-deftly observed, wiping at her cheeks as he settled in next to her, wrapping his arm around his wife.

She leaned into him, saying, "I should have told Lestrade. I shouldn't have volunteered for that assignment. I should have… I should have stayed at Baker Street… Sherlock, I-"

"No," Sherlock told her, saying, "It's not your fault. You're dedicated to what you do, and there's no way you would have done anything otherwise. Alice, it's okay," he promised. "They would have found a way to get to you no matter what. None of this is your fault."

John arrived a little while later, telling Sherlock to go home and get a shower and a nap. "I'll be here for a while. You've got to call Mycroft and talk to him about all of this, about Alice and about A.G.R.A. And you should probably call your mum and dad and let them know what's happened."

Sherlock looked over to Alice, who was dozing off in her bed. He nodded, letting John take his place and heading back to Baker Street, where he rang Mycroft and told him that they had things to discuss, and to expect him at Downing Street. Meanwhile, John stayed with Alice, watching as the monitors steadily beeped. He read through a newspaper, picking up a tabloid from the nurses' station. It was covered in headlines about the Baker Street drama, a new wife being kidnapped and fighting her way out. Kitty Riley had done well with this one, stirring up a whole lot of drama. He made a mental note to keep Sherlock and Alice away from the tabloids, and to keep the reporters away from the flat.

Alice was up watching television with John when Sherlock rang him, saying that they needed to meet at the london Aquarium. The mole inside the government had been pinned down and would be meeting them there. As John said his goodbyes, Alice reached for her mobile, which had been charging on the bedside table. She texted Sherlock, telling him to be careful and to bring a gun. He would need it.

John passed Lestrade in the hallway, nodding to him solemnly. Lestrade came into the room, knocking on the open door and smiling at Alice. "How are you feeling?"

"Better than before," she smiled, hitting a button that moved her bed up into a sitting position as he took a seat in the chair by her bed. "What's going on?"

"I figured I'd drop by and see how you're doing," he told her. "But I've also got to ask you a couple of questions, if you're up to it." Alice yawned, telling him to go ahead. Lestrade turned on a tape recorder, asking her to tell him everything she remembered.

Alice began her story, telling him the entire story, from the beginning, when she had volunteered. Lestrade took notes and kept the recording going, but stopped when she got to the part about coming back to Baker Street. "The medical records can tell a court everything that happened after that. You don't need to say it, not again, since it's so fresh." As he paused the recording, his mobile began to ring. "Lestrade." The Detective Inspector stood, pacing the room as he listened. "You're already on the way? Okay. I'll be out there in a few minutes. A government official, you said? God, of course. And it'll hit the press in the morning, I expect. Do whatever you can to keep it out of the papers. Donovan, get Mycroft to slap a D-notice on it or something. The more we keep this - and them - out of the news right now, the better. Okay. I'll be there soon."

"What's going on?" Alice questioned him, taking a sip of water. She had just been allowed some real foods, which she was glad for. Nothing too extravagant, of course. After all of this, she and Sherlock would have to go for dinner somewhere nice. "What's happened that you've got to keep out of the papers? And what's all this business about a D-notice?"  
Lestrade sighed, putting his mobile phone back into his pocket. "Vivian Norbury, one of the government officials involved in covering up Sherlock's… murder and return to the country, just shot someone down at the London Aquarium."  
Alice sat up, immediately dropping back into bed and wincing. "Is Sherlock… oh my god," she winced, looking down at her stomach to make sure she wasn't bleeding from her stitches. "Is Sherlock okay? He was supposed to meet someone there. And John."

Lestrade shook his head. "They're fine, but Mary Watson's dead."

Alice had barely mouthed an, "Oh my god" when Lestrade was out of the door, bolting down the hall and trying to get to the London Aquarium as quickly as he could. She could do nothing but sit there, listening to the steady beeping of hospital machines and staring blankly at the muted telly. Mary Watson was dead. She'd been shot. By who? Why? This was the first time that she had been alone for a while, and suddenly, everything had hit her. Charlie was gone. She would never be able to have another child, even if she wanted to. Mary was dead. And there was someone out there, still out there, that wanted her for information about Sherlock.

Mrs. Hudson was in the next morning. "They're letting me take you home tomorrow," she said, Alice smiling at the woman's presence. "I'll take you, since Sherlock has… a lot to do. They've said six to eight weeks of rest, and, well, Lestrade agreed that you need it. Now I've made some calls, and Mr. and Mrs. Holmes agree… it probably isn't best for you to stay at Baker Street."

"What do you mean? Where else would I-"

"They offered to let you stay out in the country with them," Mrs. Hudson informed her. "You'll come home to Baker Street, and I'm going to help you pack, then it's off to the country for you. No responsibilities, no cases, just a nice country home and a massive library for you."

"Can I… go to the funeral?"

Mrs. Hudson grew quiet, nodding after a moment. "I guess you should. Sherlock… John's blaming him. Mary took that bullet for him, and John blames Sherlock. He's not going, but he'll be there while you're in the flat tomorrow. The funeral's the day after, and then we'll be leaving that evening. We'll at least go to the service. It's not too much moving around."

Alice nodded sadly, saying, "You're a good woman, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you."

"Are you alright, dear?" Alice nodded, glancing to the window. Mary really was dead.

Sherlock joined Mrs. Hudson the next morning, going to pick up Alice at the hospital. He gently helped her stand as they piled into the cab, and practically carried her up the Baker Street steps, Mrs. Hudson secretly snapping pictures as she walked behind them. Chester ran up to them as Sherlock opened the door, Alice beaming as she sat down on the sofa. The dog leapt up next to her, sensing that she shouldn't be jumped on, and settled down by her side. Mrs. Hudson went to make tea, saying they all deserved a good cuppa.

"He blames you, doesn't he?" Alice asked as Sherlock handed her a mug.

"He does. It was my fault, at least partially. Vivian Norbury was aiming to kill me, but Mary dove in front of her gun," Sherlock admitted, balancing on the arm of the sofa. "He and Rosie are staying with Molly, for the time being."

"The funeral's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"I'm not going."

"I know, Mrs. Hudson told me," Alice confessed, leaning her head on his arm. "I'll still sign the card in both of our names. And I'll pass along your regards."

"He doesn't want anything to do with me, not now."

"He'll come 'round," Alice promised, taking a sip of her tea and scratching Chester's ears. "He'll come 'round eventually. He always does." Sherlock shook his head, but said nothing, putting an arm around Alice's shoulders, just being glad that she was home.

That night, Sherlock slept lightly, waking up to check on Alice every hour or so. He didn't mind, since she slept soundly, surrounded by pillows and blankets, and next to the husband that she had missed so much. In the moonlight, every time Sherlock looked over to see her sleeping peacefully, he felt incredibly lucky. She had gone through so much, and she had still come back. All of this had been his fault. He had gotten her back into the world of Moriarty, Moran, and the dangerous things that came with them. He reached out to run a hand through her hair, whispering a quiet, "I'm sorry."

Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson helped her pack the next morning, grabbing clothes and toiletries while Alice was able to take a real shower for the first time in weeks. As she walked back into the bedroom, wrapped in a dressing gown, Sherlock strode over from where he had been folding things into a suitcase and hugged her wordlessly. Sure, she still looked sickly, and she was thinner than ever, but he had his wife back. Yes, he felt a twinge of guilt that John would never do the same thing, but in that moment, he was one of the luckiest people alive. "Sherlock?" Alice asked, letting go of him before he unwrapped his arms. "I've got to get ready for the funeral. And I think I need to sit down for a moment."

When it was time for her to leave, Sherlock promised that he would call every night and visit as much as he could, even if it meant seeing his parents more often than he would have liked. He stood on the sidewalk, watching her and Mrs. Hudson drive away until their car was no longer visible.

The funeral itself was small, since Mary didn't have too many relatives. Mrs. Hudson and Alice stuck together, sitting off to the side during the service. That didn't stop people from staring at them, wondering if that really was the woman who had just survived a kidnapping and fought her way out. One of them finally came over after the preacher had finished, dropping into the pew behind them.

It was a taller woman with ridiculously curly hair and a loud personality, one who Alice had heard about but never met before. "Good to see you up and around, Mrs. Holmes," the woman smiled. "You are Mrs. Holmes, aren't you? John talks about you and your husband all the time. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Harry, by the way."

Alice smiled, shaking the hand that she offered. "Thank you. I've heard a lot about you too."

"He told me what happened," Harry said, her voice dropping to a little above a whisper. "I'm so sorry. All of this… it's so much for one person. You two and John… if you ever need anything, anything at all, give me a call, okay? I know you and Sherlock are good people. All you have to do is call."


	41. Chapter 41

As Alice was living in Sherlock's old room and eating meals cooked by his mother, lying in the sunny spots in the library and devouring books, Sherlock was hiding away in 221B, perfecting his drug-addict look. Sure, he had a client, but he didn't have his best friend, his wife, or his child. So he had his drugs. He'd finally broken. It had all been too much, losing John, losing his child, and nearly losing Alice. She would have hated it if she knew. But he had to.

Alice woke in Sherlock's old room, the sunlight streaming into the bedroom from a window that faced the garden. She could hear Mrs. Holmes downstairs, singing along with the radio. Mr. Holmes had gone out fishing in the pond behind the house, so she could sing as loudly as she wanted. Alice jumped into the shower, smiling to herself. It had been nearly a week since she had gotten out of the hospital, and she was feeling better every day. Plus, with all of the home-cooked meals that Mrs. Holmes had been pushing at her, she had begun to regain all of the weight she had lost while in captivity.

Every day, she would get up, have breakfast with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, and then take over a spot in the library or on the lawn under a tree, curled up with a book and a cup of tea. She had begun joining Mrs. Holmes in the garden, talking as they pulled weeds together and pruned the flowers and plants that had sprouted up all over the place. Alice couldn't do much work, but she was nice company. They talked about everything from the places they had traveled to stories from Sherlock's childhood. They would all meet up for lunch and for dinner, and Sherlock would call nearly every night, right before Alice went to bed.

As Alice was putting on her pajamas that night, she checked her email, seeing a couple of advertisements and well-wishes. Her phone chimed, Sherlock saying hello. "How do you feel, honey?"

"'Honey'?" Alice asked, sitting down on the bed. "Okay, then. I'm feeling better. I managed to help your mum with the patch of carrots and potatoes. I know, it sounds boring, but I managed not to have to sit down and take a breath for a while. I'm getting better, bit-by-bit. How are you feeling? You sound… different."

"I'm alright, just a bit… distracted." She could tell that he was smiling.

She leaned back on the bed, asking, "Are you on a case?"

"Yep. There's a woman who thinks her father's going to murder someone, but she can't remember who."

"'Yep'? Sherlock, are you alright?" she urged.

"I'm fiiiiine," Sherlock assured her. "Don't worry. You need to get better, not be worrying about me all day."

"Sherlock, is Mrs. Hudson home?" Alice asked. "You should let me say hello to her."

"I'm not at home. I'm walking around London with Faith."

"Who's Faith?"

"Weren't you listening? Faith, the woman whose father is going to kill someone."

Alice nodded, realizing what was happening. "I see. Sherlock, what is it tonight? Heroin? Meth? I saw you were working on some sort of big experiment while I was back at the flat. Please tell me you aren't starting a meth lab in our flat."

"Cocaine," he whispered, Alice shaking her head.

"Okay, Sherlock. What's his name?"

"Culverton Smith."

"The guy who's built all of the hospitals? Sherlock, I don't think he exactly first the murderer type. He hasn't shown any signs of it, and there are no bodies linked-"

"No, no, no, no, no," Sherlock stressed, shushing her. "He's hiding in plain sight. It makes sense, doesn't it? He's popular, he gives away a lot of money, he's rich. No one would suspect him. If you're average, you'll get caught. But money can clean up a lot of crimes, even murder."

"Okay, Sherlock," Alice told him. "Why don't you head on home and clear this up when you aren't high?"

"I'll be fine."

"Okay," Alice sighed. "Can I ask you something? Even though you're high, you remembered to call. Why do you call me every night? You never call people."

Sherlock paused before admitting, "I want to hear your voice."

When she got off the phone with him, Alice texted Mycroft, telling him that Sherlock needed to be watched and that someone ought to be there when he got home. Mycroft agreed, saying he was already working on it. Alice was about to go to bed, but she noticed something sticking out of a box in the closet. She hadn't gone through it, Mrs. Holmes saying that it was all drawings and schoolwork from Sherlock's childhood. But this picture looked like it was covered in drawn-blood, angry red scribbles.

She got up, setting her mobile on the bed, and reached for the box. It wasn't too heavy, which she was thankful for, but it was filled with interesting things. Alice set it on the bed, quietly locking the door to the bedroom, just in case Mr. or Mrs. Holmes decided to come in and wish her goodnight. She turned the box upside-down, spilling papers all over the blanket. Lots of them were drawings of pirates or pirate ships, Sherlock's giant childhood handwriting scrawled all over them. Some of them were Mycroft's, with older dates and different writing styles. But Alice was curious about a pack of drawings tied up with string on the bottom of the box.

They were drawings too, but nothing like Sherlock's and Mycroft's. There were pictures of graveyards, of houses on fire, and of figures covered in blood. There was a picture of chubby, little-kid Mycroft stuck with knives, and a boy in a pirate hat falling out of a boat, pushed by a little girl. These were the demented drawings of a child, no doubt, but they were nothing like those Alice had ever seen. Curiously, she flipped one of them over, looking for a name or a date. Sure enough, she found what she was looking for. In an awkward cursive font, the artist had signed all of her pieces with one name: Eurus.

 _She's his sister. She's alive. That's why she wanted information about him, she's going to go after him. She already tried, I'm sure. He was never in a boating accident as a kid. It was her. She had tried to drown her brother. She must have been taken away to this place, this Sherrinford Island, and managed by someone. Mycroft? He would have been too young. Uncle Rudy. he worked in the government, he could have done this. He would have taken her away and let Mycroft manage the case when he was old enough._

Alice stood up from where she had been sitting amongst the papers, thinking that she ought to tell Sherlock. But he was high out of his mind right now, and she doubted that Sherlock would remember. Something had been done to get him to forget her. All she could think of was calling Mycroft, which she did. He was still awake, sitting in his study when his phone rang. "Hello?"

"Eurus," Alice began as she stacked all of the papers back into the box. "Does that name sound familiar? Because she's the one who masterminded that kidnapping. She's the one who nearly killed me, and the one who killed Charlie. I don't know if Lestrade told you, but they wanted information about Sherlock. Now I know why. She's your sister, isn't she?"

"That's impossible," Mycroft told her, leaning back in his chair. "She's secure."

"So she is your sister."

Mycroft sighed, waiting a second before telling her the story. "She was the middle child. She was always a little different, though we all were, really. She was the smartest of all of us. But there was something off about her. She had a way with people, you see. She could convince anyone of anything, no matter what. So she got away with a lot of things. The house you're in, that's where Sherlock grew up. But we all started out in a house called Musgrave, but after everything that happened, we couldn't stay there. She would do things, things no other child would have ever considered. She would cut her arms open to see how the muscles worked. She would try to do it to us, and when she couldn't catch us, she would catch mice or birds and… I can only describe them as vivisections."

"My god. What happened to her?" Alice set the box back in the closet, taking a seat on the bed again as Mycroft kept talking.

"There was a lake there, where Dad used to take us fishing. She would hold the fish out of water, even if we were going to throw them back. She would say that she wanted to see what would happen. Even after Dad explained they would drown in air, she would keep holding them up, dipping them back into the water until they were close to death. Then one day… we were out there, and Dad had let us walk along the dock as he tied up the boat. Eurus and Sherlock were out at the end, and I was halfway there when I saw her shove him down into the water. This was one of the last days before the water was going to ice over, so it was freezing. He nearly drowned, but Dad and I got to him first. But that wasn't the worst. Do you really want to know all of this?"

"Yes," Alice said immediately, wrapping herself in a blanket. "Please, if this really was her somehow… I want to know."

"Sherlock had a friend, Victor, who lived in the next house over. He disappeared one day. They could never find him, but we all knew. She spoke in riddles about it, saying he had drowned. We knew she had done it, even if we couldn't prove it. We told Sherlock that Victor had gotten ill and had to move away. And then… she had always liked fires, but one day, she lit the house on fire, just to see what would happen. That's when I had her committed."

"You were a kid, Mycroft," Alice reminded him. "How? You weren't always the entire British government."

"My uncle worked in a position similar to my current one," Mycroft told her. "I convinced him that she had been the one who killed Victor, and when the fire happened, he was the one to get her sent to Sherrinford. But I convinced him. I showed him all of her drawings that we still had, all of the evidence, and he knew it had to have been her."

"How come Sherlock doesn't remember her?"

"Years of therapy and rewriting memories," Mycroft answered flatly. "You know he can get rid of information easily. We took advantage of that. I was too old to forget her, but someone had to manage the case when Uncle Rudy's career ended. So I stepped up. I ran the case for a while, and I still do. But after a few years, I told them - Mum, Dad, and Uncle Rudy - that she had died in another fire. It's better this way, better than knowing how she lives, locked up and as far from human contact as possible. It's to protect everyone."

"I want to see her. I want to go to Sherrinford," Alice blurted out, trying to keep quiet and not wake up Mr. and mrs. Holmes.

"You mustn't tell Sherlock. Or Mum and Dad," Mycroft instructed. "So many things would be ruined if they knew. It's better if they think she's dead, or if they don't remember her at all."

"I want to see her," Alice pressed.

"Is that a condition of your silence?"

"Yes."

"Very well," Mycroft sighed. "Remember, you must tell no one. You have to remember how dangerous she is. And remember that if she really was the woman behind your kidnapping - which I'm not sure how that could be, but it is always possible - you're putting yourself at risk again."

"I trust the guards, like I trusted them last time. Living in fear of having that happen again will get me nowhere, especially not in my line of work. And I want to know what she's like when she isn't trying to get information out of me. I want to see her. Besides, Sherrinford itself sounds fascinating."

"Hmm."

"Do you have cannibals there? Serial killers?"

"Three," Mycroft answered. "Three cannibals and more serial killers than you could name."

"You don't know what I would give to interview some of the people there."

"Give me your silence and I can get you a pass," Mycroft bargained.

"Then you have it," Alice told him. "When can I go?"

"A car will be there for you on Friday. Remember, not a word to anyone."

"Of course."

"Even Sherlock."

"Of course," Alice assured him as she hung up. "Not a word. But make sure he's okay for me. Check up on him. He's back on drugs, remember?"

Setting her mobile phone on the bedside table, Alice clicked the lamp off. But she couldn't sleep. She worried about Sherlock, about what he was doing and how self-destructive he could be. He had lost everything. John was gone. There was no possibility of Charlie, who Sherlock had been excited for beyond measure. Heck, he'd been out buying stuffed animals for the nursery a week before she had been kidnapped. He'd been buzzing with excitement when he came home that night, showing her what he had bought. He'd been happy to paint the nursery (with John's help), and had constantly been talking about the future, about trips to the Yard with him and out to the country. He had almost lost her, first to the kidnappers, then at the hospital. And now he had lost her, in a sense, since she was off in the country with his parents. She worried about what would happen when he found out that he had a sister - after all, he would find out sometime, if Eurus was plotting something. Even if she wasn't, if she was locked up, bored out of her mind but not particularly dangerous, he would remember sometime. He was already starting to remember. _It must be terrible. What is it like in that funny little brain?_


	42. Chapter 42

_Culverton Smith. Going to investigate. Love you. - SH_

 _Be careful, please. Love you too. - A_

 _Going out today. Let's see how well I do. I'll call tonight. - A_

 _Be careful. - A_

 _I will. - SH_

 _Feeling better? - A_

… _a bit. You? - SH_

 _Good enough to be going out. Car's here. Gotta go. 3 - A_

 _*heart emoji* - SH_

Alice bade Mr. and Mrs. Holmes goodbye, getting into the car that Mycroft had sent. He was sitting there waiting for her, but was obliged to say hello to his mum and dad when they saw him from the door of the house. As he dropped back into his seat, he sighed, telling the driver that they were ready. They would be stopping at a port, where they would pick up a boat and head to the island. "She's dangerous. She's manipulative," Mycroft listed as they drove up to the docks. "She's going to try to convince you of things that aren't true. Remember who you are, what you know."

"We'll be fine," she assured him as they got out. A boat was waiting, with the captain and crew standing on the dock. The captain bowed his head to Mycroft, allowing them to board and following them onto the boat. The crew followed, beginning their launch as Mycroft beckoned Alice into the captain's cabin. "Do you run exclusively to Sherrinford?" Alice asked, taking in the radar and guidance implements. "There's nowhere else to run around here."

"Captain Fitzgerald," the man said, introducing himself by shaking her hand. "And you're right, young lady. I only run to Sherrinford, and only on government business. It pays well, and it isn't terribly difficult. You get used to running the same route every time. I'll get you over there safely, don't worry."

She took a seat next to Mycroft, who was on the phone with Lestrade and opening his laptop at the same time. He was answering an email as he organized dinner with his husband, and logging into government accounts on the ship's wireless network. When he hung up, he snapped his laptop closed, getting up to radio into the island and let them know that they were on the way. As he dropped back into a seat, he told her that, "We're only a little while out. You'll be able to see the island soon."

They were immediately stopped by security when they made landfall, and had to run through a metal detector once they were inside. A guard brought them through several security checkpoints, Alice marvelling at the prison. "You're only visiting Eurus today, but you'll get to see the rest soon enough," Mycroft promised as they checked themselves in at a desk, running their IDs through the system yet again. "For now, though, we're going to see her."

Alice nodded, following him into a long corridor that led to a room with a glass wall, which Eurus was standing behind. Her hair was different, her clothes were different, and her eyes looked a lot more like the other brothers'. But she knew it was her. Alice walked right up to the glass, while Mycroft stood in the back of the room, his arms crossed as he watched the two. Eurus had just set her violin down and turned to face them, looking at Alice curiously. "What treat have you brought for me today, Mycroft?" Yes, it was her. The voice was the same.

"You know who I am," Alice told her, watching as Eurus walked up to the glass. They were only a foot or so apart, separated only by the wall of bulletproof glass. But Alice wasn't afraid. She was just a person, after all. There was nothing and no one there to help her. Even if this woman was a psychopath, she was just a person.

Eurus blinked, looking her over. "No, I'm afraid I have no idea. Are you a new attendant? After what happened to the last one they let in here, I'm surprised they sent someone... like you."

"Come on, I know it was you," Alice scoffed, crossing her arms. "Behind the disguise, I still know. I would recognize you no matter what you do to alter your appearance, because I know who you are, what you've done. You've killed people, you tried to kill your little brother, you set your house on fire. I know all about you."

"Do you? Do you really?" Eurus questioned, looking her up and down again. "I know nothing about you. Well, that's not quite true. You're a young woman who's gone through a great loss recently. You're worried about your boyfriend - no, husband. You're worried about him, but you're not afraid here. You're surrounded by murderers, cannibals, some of the most despicable people on this planet, and you're more worried about him than about your own safety. That's interesting. You've got a dog, but you haven't seen it recently. You're usually overworked, but you're on a break now. You've recently had surgery, you had tea with breakfast, and you've traveled outside of the UK quite a lot. So no, I don't know a thing about you."

"My name is Alice. I'm your brother's wife. The same brother you tried to drown when you were a kid," she told her, Eurus turning her head curiously. "I work at Scotland Yard, and I'm on half of his cases, since I work homicides and violent crimes. Of course, you already knew that. I know where you've been, I know who you are. You cost me my son, and you almost cost me my life."

"Look at this room," Eurus told her. "Look at it. You think I could get out? I'd be shot before I could get anywhere close to the door."

Mycroft's phone started to ring, and he stepped out of the room, leaving Alice and Eurus alone together. "It was you. I don't know how you did it, but it was you." Eurus simply nodded. Alice kept herself calm, waiting to elicit some sort of response. "I hope you enjoyed your stay. Too bad about the baby. I would have named him after his missing aunt. Or perhaps he would take after me. After us. I mean, he would have had the genes on Sherlock's side and you, well, I can tell we aren't that different after all. Isn't that a nice thought?"

Mycroft quickly walked back into the room, telling Alice that they needed to go. "Why? We've only just gotten here. What's happened?" Mycroft said nothing, taking her arm. Alice turned to Eurus, promising her, "I'll be back" before following Mycroft into the hall. "What's going on?" She wheeled around to face him, begging to know. "Is it Sherlock?"

"He's in the hospital," Mycroft told her succinctly. "We're heading back to the mainland."

"It's not an overdose, is it?" They jogged down the hall together, Alice praying that her husband would still be alive when they got there.

"They think he took something laced with another drug. He tried attacking Culverton Smith with a scalpel," Mycroft relayed, dialing a number on his phone and saying, "This is Antarctica, requesting pickup at the docks. Immediately. Yes. Back to the mainland. I'll need a car waiting when we get there."

They said nothing to each other as the boat sped across back towards the mainland, Alice texting John and asking if he knew anything. It would be a few hours before they got to the hospital, even if they sped. She hoped that John was with him. He needed someone, and John, even an angry John, would be better than no one. As they got into the car, Alice asked if there was a phone number. Mycroft shrugged, so Alice took the time to hack into the hospital's database and find one. She rang Sherlock as soon as she found it. There was no time to think about Eurus, about being kidnapped, about anything except for the detective who had almost overdosed and was fighting for his life.

A groggy voice answered on her sixth try, Alice smiling at his voice. "Oh my god, what happened?"

"Alice?" he croaked. "How… I'm… he's a serial killer. He's going to try to kill me, Alice. He's going to kill me. He's done it before, and he's about to do it again. If he… if I… if something happens, I'm sorry. I love you, and I'm sorry."

"No, Sherlock. Listen to me. You're going to fight. You're going to live, okay? You've got to do this, for me," she instructed as the driver sped up on the freeway. "Listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. You're going to fight him, and you're going to live, even if it's just for me to yell at you when I get there." She glanced out of the window, wishing they would drive faster. "Sherlock, please. We've done so much already. We've fought for so long. You have to hold on for me, okay? We can't quit now."

"Alice, I'm burning up. I'm at the bottom of a pit, and I'm still falling. I'm never climbing out. I'm sorry. I knew this was going to happen one day. I can't control it anymore."

"No, please, Sherlock, you have to listen to me," she pled. "Mycroft, can't we go any faster? You're the government, for God's sake! No, Sherlock, you're not. You're going to pull through, you're going to get better. Sure, you might relapse, but I promise I'll be there, I promise I'll be able to help if anything happens. You just have to wait a little longer for me, alright? Wait for me to get there, and then we can discuss this. Please, it's just a little while longer."

"Alice, I'm a lost cause. I love you, but there's no saving me, not from myself," Sherlock told her, his voice growing fainter. "Not after this. Not now. It's too late."

"If you can't… you have to. For me. I need you, Sherlock, more than I've needed anyone. Please," she begged, wiping tears of of her cheeks as Mycroft tried to avoid making eye contact. "You have to. Sherlock… we've both lost so much. But when I found you, I knew I'd stumbled across someone like me, someone who saw things differently, who could read things differently. I knew who you were - what you were, but I never would have guessed what you meant. You saved me more times than you can count, Sherlock. And after everything, you keep giving me hope. After Moriarty, after the fall, after all of that time waiting, and… and Moran, Magnussen, after Charlie… you still keep me right. Sherlock, if you can't hold on for anything else, hold on for me."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, Sherlock finally saying, "I'm sorry. I love you." The line went dead, Alice leaning back in her seat.

"Drive," she told their chauffeur coldly, setting her phone in her lap. "Drive."

They arrived at the hospital what seemed like an eternity later, Alice jumping out of the car as soon as they had come to a stop. She bolted inside, Mycroft trailing in her wake. Skipping the normal guest check-in, she slung her badge onto the closest nurses' station,. "Scotland Yard. Where's Sherlock Holmes?"

The startled young nurse behind the desk looked her over, then checked the computer system. "Let me double-check." Mycroft caught up with her, slightly out of breath. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but Sherlock Holmes passed away half an hour ago."

Alice swallowed, gravely telling the nurse to, "Check again."

The nurse did, spinning the computer monitor so Alice could see. "I'm sorry."

Alice turned around, facing Mycroft. For a second, he thought she was going to yell at him, to blame him for not getting there earlier. But she simply turned to look at him, shaking her head as her eyes filled with tears again. "We're too late. We're too late." In a very un-Mycroft-like gesture, he opened his arms, hugging his sister-in-law as she began to sob in the middle of the hospital lobby. "We're too late."


	43. Chapter 43

As Mycroft deftly dropped Alice into a chair, John rounded the corner, looking distraught. "Alice, oh my god. It's okay, I swear." He jogged over to her, saying, "He's not dead. Smith was trying to kill him, that's why the records are off. He was trying to kill him, and he would have succeeded too, but he's okay. He's still alive, but barely. We're heading to Bart's, since Scotland Yard's about to be swarming this place."

She looked up, seeing that he looked incredibly stressed but otherwise okay. "What? But I thought…"

"He's really on drugs, he really needs help, but he's not dead. But we've got to hurry if we want to be in the ambulance with him. They're leaving any second. Let's go." John pulled her up and into a sprint down the hall, towards the Emergency Room, and then up into an ambulance that was preparing to leave at any second. He leaned forward, telling the driver that they were ready to go, just as Mycroft joined them, pulling the doors shut as he jumped into the ambulance.

Alice climbed over John so she could sit next to the head of the stretcher. She took Sherlock's hand as they started to move, not paying attention to how cold he was getting. He opened his eyes slightly, the corner of his mouth turning up at the sight of her. "You've been crying," he croaked, ever the observant detective. "What's wrong?"

"They told me you died. I thought... I thought I'd lost you. Again." She fought back tears, knowing that he was still very well on the brink of death.

"I did, for a moment or two. But I'm here now. And I'm not going to leave you, not again." He squeezed her hand, closing his eyes again. As they sped along the streets of London, Alice practically draped herself over him, Sherlock smiling a bit more. From then on, she knew he was going to be alright, she could tell. "I love you.. Please don't… please don't leave me."

"I love you too. And I'm not going anywhere, I promise you."

She spent the night at Saint Bart's, sitting up with Sherlock. Well, sitting up next to him while he slept. John eventually went home to be with Rosie, promising that he would come back in the morning before he had to be at work. He was there as early as they would let him in. Molly come by with coffee after Sherlock had dozed off, Alice gratefully accepting a cup. "Seems like you spend too much time here," Molly smiled sadly as she sat down. "And not always for the best of reasons."

"Too much time in the rooms, and not a lot down in the morgue," Alice nodded as she sat down again. "They say he's going to pull though. We'll be heading back to Baker Street tomorrow or the day after, according to the doctors. And from there, who knows. I mean, there's someone we have to deal with, but, as far as I can prove, she's locked up for now."

"What do you mean?" Molly asked, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shoulders. "Is it someone in Moriarty's network? Or someone the Yard's after?"

"There's… I think I know who kidnapped me. I think I know who she is, but she's locked away in a prison that's supposedly impossible to escape from," Alice told her, taking a sip of her drink and lowering her voice. "She's out there, I know it. She's going to try to kill me again. She wanted information about him. Molly, she's dangerous, and even Mycroft can't see it."

"Then go after her," Molly urged without a second thought. "They'll understand."

"He won't. At least not at first. There's still a lot that we're missing, a lot that I haven't been told and even more that he doesn't know just yet." Alice nodded, looking over to where Sherlock slept. "She's his sister."

Sherlock was released the next afternoon, with careful instructions to rest and relax. Of course, he would not be following those. One of the discharge nurses handed Alice a packet of information about drug counseling, which she accepted gratefully and tucked into her purse. She threw it in the nearest trash bin as soon as they were out of the hospital doors, knowing full well that he wouldn't accept it. When they got back to Baker Street, Alice sent Sherlock to bed while she took the entire flat apart, looking for stashes of drugs anywhere and everywhere. She dumped everything that she found down the sinks or down the toilet. Finally, she jumped into the shower after checking that Sherlock was still sleeping peacefully.

When she got out, Alice went to make dinner in her pajamas, thinking that she would wake Sherlock up in a little while. Mrs. Hudson had taken Chester with her to her Bridge Club, so the house was quiet. John and Rosie would be over the next day. They had been by the hospital that morning, but Alice had been out and had only seen them for a few minutes. Of course, there was little food in the cabinets, but she managed to scrape together enough to make eggs and pancakes, She found Sherlock up and about when she went to make tea, nearly crashing into him as she opened the refrigerator. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Better," he yawned, pulling on the sheet that he had draped around his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need." She shook her head, turning away to grab the tea kettle.

Sherlock joined her at the counter, protesting, "No, I need to… apologize. Everything you said on the phone… everything I said, it was true. But you made me realize… you made me remember that there's so much more than the drugs. I'm still going to be itching for them, I'm still going to crave them more than so much else. But you… I'm so lucky to have you." He wrapped his arms around her, Alice smiling a bit.

"That's the old shirt you always wear, isn't it?" she asked, running her hands over his shoulders before pulling him into a hug. "Sensitive. I mean heightened tactile senses, just like heightened sense of taste and heightened observation, both of which I've seen you use. It only makes sense that you're wearing an old shirt like that, so the seams won't bother you. Also explains your taste for expensive clothes - they're made of better, less rough fabric."

Sherlock chuckled, saying, "I've missed this. Us, here, deducing things and just being us. Existing and being… well, domestic. It's kind of nice, not being shot at or strangled or anything."

Alice let him go as the kettle began to whistle. "There's a plate for you in the microwave. And I'm making tea. Want me to put the telly on?"

"I've got it," Sherlock told her, taking a mug and heading for the sofa. When Alice joined him, he was flipping through channels, looking at nature documentaries, the news, and true-crime shows. Alice set a plate down on the table in front of him as she sat down. "Who was she?"

"What do you mean?" She already knew, but prayed he would ask her something else, anything else.

Sherlock pressed the matter, saying, "The woman who kidnapped you. The one you went to see a few days ago."

"How do you know?"

Sherlock scoffed, taking a sip of his tea. "Please. It took you and Mycroft far too long to get to the hospital, even if you were with Mum and Dad. You were nervous, but not just like I was dying. Like someone had scared you, scared the hell out of you. You were in clothes you would wear to meet someone relatively important, not just to lay about the house and get better. You smelled slightly like the ocean, like you'd been traveling on a ship somewhere. You've been off of the mainland, but you were going to see someone. And you were with Mycroft, who was the one to introduce you, so it must have been someone high-profile or in prison. I've heard rumors that there's a prison on an island off the coast. That's where you were, I'm sure. Now who would you be visiting? Serial killers, arsonists, you wouldn't have been so secretive about it. So it was clearly someone they need to keep locked up, and someone you were curious about. Balance of probability, it was the person who kidnapped you."

For a moment, Alice stayed quiet. "You… I don't know how she did it, but she was the one. I would recognize her anywhere. She was locked up, behind multiple security doors and bulletproof glass, but she got out. Somehow. Like I told Mycroft, I don't know how or why, but she escaped and came after me." Sherlock stared at her, nodding. "You think I'm mad, don't you?"

"No," he assured her. "I think you're right."

John arrived after dinner, carrying Rosie along. Alice took her immediately, letting John and Sherlock talk as she cleaned up dinner with Rosie, who giggled at the soap bubbles in the sink, trying to swat some of them out of the air. While they were cleaning up, Alice was listening in on their conversation. "... said her name was Eurus. Mycroft has got to know more, but we've got to get to him first, scare the hell out of him. She said she was your sister, Sherlock."

Alice picked Rosie up, carrying her back into the living room. The little girl started playing with her hair as she turned to the others, saying, "It was her. That's who I went to visit. She… she said that she was your sister, but I didn't believe her," she fibbed, untangling some of her hair from Rosie's grasp. "Mycroft and I went to visit her. She seemed safe in prison, but I don't believe him. She got out somehow. I can't really explain it, but she got out."

Sherlock turned to her, asking, "I really have a sister?"

Alice nodded, shifting Rosie to her other side. "She's real. You know those dreams you keep having, about the little girl trying to drown you? That was her. Everything you're remembering, she was part of it. You've got to ask Mycroft about it, but… it was her."

"Well then, we've got to hunt Mycroft down," John resolved.

"Tomorrow, then," Alice nodded, smiling at Rosie. "Tomorrow, we'll find Uncle Mycroft."

"Actually," Sherlock frowned, "actually, we can find him tonight. But someone's got to be here with Rosie. And someone needs to go back to the country, because she's not healed up yet."

Alice scowled at him, arguing that, "I'm a whole lot better than I was a week or two ago. I'll be fine. I'll stay here when you scare the hell out of your brother, but I want in on the rest of this."

"We just want the truth," Sherlock argued. "We aren't doing anything big. And you've got to tell Mum and Dad I'm still alive. You've got to rest."

"Just don't do anything stupid, okay?"

* * *

A.N.: Aaagh, I love Eurus so much! Seriously tempted to cosplay her at the next convention I go to. Currently writing at 3 AM, waiting to make sure my best friend makes it home okay. My Watson went out clubbing without me tonight, so I'm waiting up. When we actually share a flat, I'm sure I'll stay up for him to come home instead of waiting for a text.


	44. Chapter 44

Alice was back in the countryside when she got the news. Mrs. Holmes had the television on when a story flashed along the bottom of the screen, saying that there had been an explosion in central London. To Alice, of course, this wasn't terribly disturbing, it just meant that there was another case to work on. No one was listed as terribly injured, but when the camera zoomed in on the location, her heart climbed up into her throat.

There was a giant, smoldering pile of rubbish where the front of the flat had been, all of 221 Baker Street covered in soot and grime. Speedy's Cafe was slightly damaged, but it wasn't nearly as burnt-out as the Baker Street flats. She grabbed her mobile phone, dialing Mrs. Hudson, the only one she could count on to answer. "Hello? Alice, dear, we're all okay."

"What happened?" she asked, getting up from the sofa and pacing the house.

"I was just finishing up my cleaning when there was a huge explosion upstairs. Mycroft says it was some sort of government grenade… John and Sherlock are off tracking down the person who did it. Somewhere called Sherrinford, I think. I've got Chester here with me, we're cleaning up my flat. I guess the boys will tackle yours when they get home."

"But everyone's alright?" Alice verified, glancing out of the window towards where . Holmes was heading in from a fishing trip.

"Yes, yes, we're all fine. There's going to be some work for a real construction crew in your flat, but we all got very lucky," Mrs. Hudson informed her. "The insurance should cover most of it, and Mycroft's already said it was a government thing, so we'll get a check from them too."

"Good," Alice sighed in relief, saying, "I've got to get going and give Sherlock a call, but it's good to hear you're all okay." She tried ringing Sherlock, but there was no answer. Of course. She would have bet anything that it was Eurus who had tried to kill them all, and it was Eurus that they were trying to hunt down. All she could really do was hope that they made it home alright, especially since she had been distracted while Mycroft was directing the driver to the docks when they last went to visit Sherrinford Island.

That afternoon, Alice was helping Mrs. Holmes in the garden when the phone began to ring inside. "I've got it," Alice told her, carrying a basket of carrots inside as long as she was headed that way. She grabbed the ringing phone from its cradle, saying hello. There was no answer, only the sound of someone breathing. "Hello?"

"Hello, there," a very familiar voice said, Alice immediately startled.

Alice set the basket down next to the sink, leaning back on the kitchen counter. "You're dead."

"I thought you'd say that," Moriarty's voice laughed. "But I'm soooo changeable, aren't I? Anyway, dearie, I'm just warning you that she's dangerous, that Eurus. Damn, girl, she's a great one. You know all of that stuff I've done? That's nothing compared to what she's got planned."

"How are you-"

"Better be careful."

"This is a recording, isn't it?"

The line went dead, but clicked back on, a woman's voice speaking live. "Jim was nice, wasn't he? We did some great work together. Exchanged lots of ideas. I would have been like him, if Uncle Rudy hadn't locked me up. It would have been fun. Speaking of fun, would you like to speak to your dear Sherlock?"

"What are you doing to him, Eurus?"

"Did it hurt?"

"What?"

"Did it hurt? Waking up and realizing that you were never going to have a child, that you'd ruined everything? That my brother, no matter how comforting he might have seemed, was incredibly disappointed in you? What did it feel like?"

"What are you doing to him, Eurus?" Alice repeated, checking to make sure Mrs. Holmes wasn't coming inside to see why she had been gone for so long.

"Nothing yet," Eurus taunted. "Keep your mobile on you. Your husband may need it." The line clicked dead, this time beeping to say that the call had ended.

Alice set the phone down, checking to make sure her mobile was in her pocket before heading back outside. "It's Mrs. Hudson," she said, pulling her gardening gloves back on. "She wanted to let me know that she's hired someone to work on the flat, and that she's taking Chester to the groomer." Technically, this was true. She'd called earlier, letting Alice know about what was happening back at Baker Street.

"That's nice," Mrs. Holmes nodded absentmindedly. She was pulling up weeds as she told Alice that, "You know, I've always told you that I wanted a daughter. That's not exactly true. I… Tim and I did have one, but she passed away years ago. She… she wasn't normal. She would hurt animals, play with fire, the things you're supposed to look out for in a child. These days, I'm sure they would have called it some sort of antisocial childhood tendency. But they just called her a psychopath."

"What happened to her?"

"She… there was a fire, where she was staying. It was one of those mental hospitals, one of the nice ones designed for children with problems like she had. There was a fire, and she… she didn't make it," Mrs. Holmes confessed, avoiding meeting her eye. She sat up, looking off into the distance. "They say she killed a little boy. We all knew it was probably true, but I could never bring myself to… Sherlock doesn't know. He was only five or six when it happened, and we did everything we could to get him to forget… I'm not sure if it was the right thing to do, but it was all we could think of…"

Alice moved over, giving her mother-in-law a hug. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"When you were missing, Sherlock was going mad. He would have turned all of London upside down to find you if he had to. I… it felt like I had lost her again. Tim and I stayed up, calling all of the neighbors and trying to do as much as we could from here. We came in to stay with Mrs. Hudson for a little while, since the boys were out so much. If they came home at all, it was rare," she told her, Alice listening quietly. "He called us as soon as they found you. We were there, in the hospital, and it was almost like we had found our daughter again. I wish we could see her one more time, but I can't imagine what she would be like now, if she was that bad as a child."

There was nothing she could say. Even if she told her that Eurus was alive, it would have killed her. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had long since accepted that their daughter had died, and bringing her back, especially as a psychopath who had kidnapped and killed, would have broken them. So instead, all Alice told her was that, "I'm sure she's somewhere better now. She was just a child when all of this happened, no one could really fault her. It was bad, but… she was just a little girl."

They ventured inside, Alice making Mrs. Holmes some tea and sitting down with her at the kitchen table. "Her name was Eurus," Mrs. Holmes continued. "She looked like the boys, dark hair, light eyes, just like my mother. But there was something about her, even when she was really little, something that Tim and I didn't like. It sounds terrible to say, talking about my daughter like that, but it scared us."

Alice's phone began to ring, and, seeing that it was the same number that had called earlier, she begged Mrs. Holmes' forgiveness, but saying that it wa Sherlock, and that it was for a very important case. She ducked into the closet in the front hall, whispering a hello. This time, it really was Sherlock. "Hi there, Alice." She could tell that he was trying to be positive, but that something was very, very wrong. "I need a favor, honey."

"'Honey'?"

"I need you to do something for me, okay?" He was trying to keep his voice level. "I need you to take my mum and dad and go outside. Once you're outside, You need to walk into the garden and sit down on the benches there, Stay there until I tell you otherwise, okay?"

"Okay." Alice walked out of the hall closet, beckoning for Mrs. Holmes to follow her. "Where's Tim?"

"In the sitting room, I think." Alice nodded, going to get Mr. Holmes. They followed her outside, exchanging questioning glances.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" Alice asked as they sat down.

"John and I are at Sherrinford. We've got a series of things to solve, and you're our… emotional motivation."

"Does that mean that something's going to happen to us if you don't solve it in time?" she asked, trying to whisper so Mr. and Mrs. Holmes couldn't hear her conversation. "Sherlock, what's going on?"

"Nothing's going to happen to you, I promise. I won't let anything-"

Eurus' voice interrupted him, going, "Okay, I think that's enough." The line clicked dead, Alice checking her phone just to be sure that the call wasn't still going.

"Why are we out here?" Mr. Holmes asked, turning to her.

"It is a nice night, though," Mrs. Holmes added.

"Sherlock… Sherlock needs us out here for something. I'm not exactly sure what," she said, choosing her words carefully. "But he needs us out here, or something will happen. Like I said, he wasn't very specific, but he needs us to stay here. He said he'd ring us when we can leave."

"We've seen stranger things from that boy before," Mr. Holmes told her with a shrug. "I'm just going to assume that he's working on a case. This must have something to do with it."

Alice nodded, looking around the garden. There were no signs of cameras, but there could always be something hidden. A slight humming noise made her look up towards a drone, which was circling the garden. They were on camera, and they were being watched for a reason. It probably contained some type of weapons system that would take them down if they tried to leave. Or if Sherlock got something wrong. But for now, it was her job to keep his parents calm, and to keep them from noticing that they were being watched.

So they waited. And waited. And waited. It seemed like forever, but around ten o'clock, Sherlock called her back, saying that they could go in, that everything was okay. But they were to go in the house, lock themselves in, and stay in the living room. Sherlock lowered his voice, saying, "Take your gun with you. You might need it. I love you."

"I love you too." She didn't bother asking for an explanation, instead assuming that he had his reasons, and that he would explain everything to her when he got back.

They spent the night in the living room, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes dozing off while Alice kept watch. She was convinced that something was going to happen - she didn't know what, but something. Eurus had obviously told him that someone could be heading to the house. So she stayed awake, getting up to make coffee every couple of hours. Around 5 AM, Sherlock texted, saying that Eurus had been arrested and that he had quite the story to tell her. _Wake the parents up and get everyone to 221B. - SH_

Alice shook them awake, telling Mr. and Mrs. Holmes that everything was alright, and that they needed to head into London and find Sherlock. He and Mycroft had a lot to tell her. Intuitively knowing that it was all over, Alice went upstairs, shoving all of her things into her suitcase as quickly as she could. On the way to London, she kept parrying their questions, saying that Sherlock and Mycroft would tell them what they had to tell them, since it wasn't her position to deliver that news. "We just need to get there. They'll be able to tell you a lot more than I can. Especially Mycroft, he knows… he knows a lot about this case."

* * *

A.N.: IDK if this will push it over the number of words I need, but I'm getting super close to 100k words! I've literally written more than a book (and I've written a shorter book than this fic!). Thank you all for sticking with it, especially those of you who leave reviews or PM your ideas! (Publishing a bit early bc I'm taking a mini-vacation this weekend).


	45. Chapter 45

Alice stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking down at her stomach. She'd watched it grow for weeks, visually tracking the changes millimeter by millimeter. But now it had suddenly flattened out, leaving behind a few stretch marks that would fade over time. And a giant scar. It was gone. He was gone. She was no longer holding a child, no longer smiling at its progress in the mirror.

Sherlock was pacing the living room, glancing at his phone. They had intended to head out to Scotland Yard together, where they would be meeting Lestrade and Mycroft, then heading out to dinner. But Alice was running incredibly late. Finally, he got fed up and went back into their bedroom, noticing that the bathroom door was still closed. He was about to knock when he heard her crying. Not quietly crying, like she'd shed tears when he was going to be sent off to Eastern Europe. No, she was sobbing, heavy, wracking sobs that she was desperately trying to keep quiet. Sherlock opened the door silently, stepping into the bathroom.

Staring into the mirror, holding on to the sink basin for dear life, Alice was sobbing. She whirled around as soon as she heard the door creak open, brushing her tears off. "Go away, Sherlock. I'll be there in a minute."

"What's wrong?" he asked, leaning on the door frame.

"Go away." She wiped at her eyes, turning away from him. "Please, just go away. Go to the Yard, I'll be there soon. I'll meet you there."

"No." He stepped forward into the room, wrapping his arms around her. "You need to talk about it. It won't get any better if you don't. You tell me to talk to you all the time, and now it's your turn to take your own advice."

"Sherlock, please don't..."

"You would do the same thing for me. You need to talk to someone. If not me, we... we can find you someone. I'll pay for anything, as long as it helps you."

She was still looking in the mirror, her red, tear-stained face contrasting greatly with Sherlock's pale gaze. He looked up too, meeting her eye in the polished glass. Alice watched him move, kissing the top of her head. "I'll be fine." Sherlock shook his head, pulling her close. Alice sighed, turning to hug him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you have to deal with this, with me, with losing our son. I'm sorry I… I can't believe I… Sherlock, I'm so sorry."

He pulled her over to the bathtub, where they sat down and Alice continued talking. "I've hurt so many people… I've killed so many people. I just thought I could… I thought this, this could turn my life around, make everything somewhat normal again. If I could be a mum, if I could raise him right, maybe I'd finally have done some good in the world. But I even failed at that. Sherlock, I lost him. I… if only I was stronger. I'm so sorry."

Sherlock bit his lip, not exactly sure how to deal with this type of thing. So he did what she would do. He pulled her closer, running a hand through her hair. "It's okay. He… he tortured you. It's a normal physiological reaction, just your body trying to keep you alive. None of this was your fault."

"I know, but, Sherlock, if I could have done something, if I was stronger-"

"No," he insisted, holding her head to his chest. He kissed the top of her hair, assuring her that, "You got out alive. You got out of there on your own. You were tortured, for Heaven's sake. You're stronger than a whole lot of people would have been. None of this is your fault."

"Do you miss him?" She looked up at him through tear-stained eyes. "I never wanted to have kids, but I'd gotten so used to it… I was beginning to… to be excited about being someone's mum. We'd picked out nursery colours and everything, and we'd narrowed down names…"

Sherlock finally confided what had really happened that day in the hospital. "When they brought you in, you were dying. I couldn't bear the thought of it, but if they even tried to save him, you would have died. I… I didn't want to tell you that there was any sort of hope. I knew it would hurt you, but... you need to know. You were in a lot worse condition than you thought. You would have died… and even afterwards, you were in critical condition for a while. It's a miracle that either one of you lived. I'm lucky to even have you."

For a moment, she was silent, but Alice eventually managed to speak. "Thank you."

They sat there for a while, their backs pressed against the cold tile of the bathtub. Eventually, Alice's breathing slowed back to normal, and her tears dried up. Sherlock still held onto her, running his hand through her hair in silence. She sat up, taking his hand and smiling a bit. "I've stained your shirt. You'll need to change before we go."

He looked down at the tear stains that covered his chest and shrugged. "That's okay. If you want, I can ring Lestrade and tell him we won't be coming. I'm sure he would understand."

"No, no, I'll be alright." Alice stood, stepping out of the bathtub and going to wash her face. "We need to get back to normal, after all of this." She turned to face him as she dried her face off, smiling a bit, even though her eyes were still red. "We must look half-mad, sitting in a bathtub and having conversations like this… c'mon, we have to get down to the Yard, or we'll be meeting them in the middle of the restaurant."

They did end up making their dinner with Mycroft and Lestrade, arriving at the Yard just in time to leave for the restaraunt with them. Mycroft had asked them to come along and discuss what was going to happen to Eurus, who was now back in Sherrinford, which was being staffed with new doctors and security experts, who were not affected by Eurus' forms of manipulation. She would be under surveillance, but kept away from human contact as much as possible. As Alice took a sip of her wine, Lestrade turned to her, saying, "You know there's no way we can formally prosecute her."

She nodded, agreeing that, "She's clinically a psychopath. If it all really is out of curiosity, boredom, and the sheer need to see what would happen, it's clinical. You've already seen the analyses. I know there's nothing we can really do. I mean, there's no punishment that would really do anything."

Sherlock agreed, taking her hand under the table. "They've gone through the checklist with her, they've done all of the diagnostic tests there are. Alice is right. There's nothing that can be done."

"Do you want to go back?" Mycroft asked, looking between the two of them.

Alice nodded. "I want to see her. And the rest of Sherrinford. They would all make amazing studies. I'm sure Sherlock would want to go too. And we should let your parents visit her, even if she isn't going to talk to them. They deserve to see her. They're her parents, after all."

"Very well, then," Mycroft acquiesced, looking to Lestrade, who agreed, adding that they deserved the truth. "We will have them in tomorrow. My office, ten o'clock, Sherlock. Promptly."

When Sherlock and Alice went home, Mrs. Hudson was headed back to her flat, having had Chester with her for a while. She had just returned him to 221B after a walk down to the park. "Evening, dears."

"Evening, Mrs. Hudson," Alice smiled, Sherlock walking ahead of her and taking off his coat with a yawn as he climbed the 17 steps up to the flat,

"The post is on the kitchen table, and Chester's been out already."

"Thank you so much," Alice beamed, wishing her goodnight before following Sherlock up the stairs and into the flat. He had already found the post, and was puzzling over an unlabeled white envelope.

"It's addressed to us," he told her, holding it up. "It's some sort of DVD. Want to watch?"

"Mysterious package, only labeled with a name, and definitely not mailed here, but still in our pile of mail? Of course I do." She hung her coat by the door, next to his, and sat down on the sofa as Sherlock turned the television and the DVD player on. "Any idea who it's from?"

"It looks like the DVDs that Mary recorded before her death," Sherlock observed as the DVD loaded. He dropped into the spot next to Alice, waiting for the message to play.

The first few seconds were just a black screen, but soon a familiar, hollow voice started to speak. "Hello there, Sherlock. I may be gone, but damn, Eurus is good at this, isn't she? I hear she's found you already. More of my pets are out there, Sherlock. And you're not gonna like them. Oh, and Alice, dear, I hope you're doing well. You've got your work cut out for you if you decide to stick around. Tsk tsk tsk, I thought I trained you better than this. Come on, is this fun? All of this being domestic? Well, I hope you enjoy it, because it's never going to be easy living with that detective of yours. Okay, you two, have fun! I'll be in touch. Laters!"

Sherlock said nothing, watching as the message played again on a loop. "Hello there, Sherlock. I may be gone, but damn, Eurus is good at this, isn't she? I hear she-" He let go of Alice's hand, which he had unconsciously reached out for while Moriarty had been talking onscreen. Sherlock got up, turning off the television and taking the DVD out, flipping it over in his hands.

"It's not him," Alice resolved. "He'd recorded loads of stuff before his death. This has to be one of those. There's no way he could have survived a gunshot wound to the head like that, right?"

"No," Sherlock assured her, setting the disc on top of the telly. "I saw him. I saw him do it. I saw him on that rooftop. There's no way he could have survived that. Moriarty's dead. If anyone is doing this, it's Moran. He's off somewhere… Alice, you've got to go back to him."

Alice sat up, shaking her head as Chester waddled over to see what was going on. "What do you mean? Why?"

"If you get back into contact with him, say you'll sell me out, you'll give them information, he'll trust you. Tell them I'm an ignorant arse who's unbearable to live with and that you're sick of me, that you'd been thinking about leaving for a while, that you want to do something -"

"No." She stood, crossing the room in a second and wrapping her arms around him. "Not now, Sherlock. Give me time. Give both of us time. You've only just gotten back from hell… that island sounded terrible, from what you've told me. And yes, I'm back here, I'm healthy, I could physically do this, but we need time."

Sherlock was about to object, but he was silenced when he buried his face in her hair. "But… okay."

Ultimately, she would get back into contact with Moran. There would be more danger, more loss. Sherlock would always be asking questions, would always be curious about Moriarty and Moran's plans, and how Eurus fit into them. But for now, all of that could wait. For now, they had each other, and even Sherlock's mind stopped whirring at a thousand kilometers a second, if only for a little while.


	46. Chapter 46

Sebastian Moran was known to be secretive, but amongst the criminal classes, he was famous. People would show up at his door, looking for a solution to a problem, and go away with a lot less money in their pockets but no worries about an ex-lover or a terrible boss. Moran could make people disappear. He could take care of sticky situations, and he could find solutions when there was no one else to turn to, which was exactly why so many people turned to him. And how Alice knew where to look when she was trying to get back into contact with him.

She still had her contacts in the criminal underworld, and, pulling some strings, she was able to find Moran's new address. He had moved around a lot since he had escaped from prison, staying a step ahead of the authorities. Alice tracked him down to a respectable little home a little ways away from Baker Street. They had decided that she would go back, but Lestrade wouldn't be notified until much later.

It was a gray, drizzly London morning when Alice grabbed her coat and wound a scarf around her neck, telling Sherlock goodbye before heading off to Moran's. She idled in the alleyway for a little bit, knocking on the door in the old pattern that they had used for years. Almost immediately, the door cracked open, Moran unlatching it when he saw that it was her. Wordlessly, she was ushered inside, but he started speaking as soon as the door was closed and locked once again. "Does he know you're here?"

"Good to see you too, Seb," Alice smiled, unbuttoning her coat and hanging it by the door. "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice."

"Come on in." He brought her into the kitchen, which was somewhat cramped and quickly filling up with boxes full of files. "Want some tea? Coffee?"

"Anything warm's fine. Whatever you've already got made." She grabbed a seat in one of the few chairs that wasn't being taken over by cardboard boxes. "Like I told you in my message… he's unbearable. It's so naive, but I thought I could get him to change, even just a little. But he's still out late and running around like mad. My kitchen's a chem lab, and there are body parts in the vegetable drawers in the fridge. And he's such an arse… Seb, I'm done. I've had it up to here with him. I'm done." She wiped at her eyes for dramatic effect. "He lost… he lost me a child, Seb. I… I know it wasn't his fault, but he was the one they wanted information on. Seb, I… I think I hate him."

"You want me to get rid of him for you?" Moran wondered, running a hand through his blond hair as he waited for the coffee machine to finish brewing. "Do you know how difficult that would be?"

"No. I mean, yes, I know. But that's not what I want. I want something much better. Well, much worse. Seb, I want to go back to work - our kind of work. It must have been hard when you had to take over for Jim, and I'm sure you need someone to help you. Even if I'm not the one running things, or the one behind the gun, I want to help. The work Scotland Yard is doing is useless. We've done a lot more important things in a lot less time. Let me help," Alice bargained. "Cream and sugar, please."

Moran handed her a mug, taking a seat, saying, "That's… it's an interesting proposition. So you're willing to spy on him for me?"

"Of course," Alice nodded, taking a sip of her drink. She'd been watching, making sure he didn't try to drug her. Moran was an expert at drugging people, knocking them out just long enough to make sure they weren't wearing wires or anything. "Seb, I want to help. I want to go back to work. I'm sick of being so… so good all of the time. I want real work, a real challenge, something I can pull off. Please, Seb."

Moran pursed his lips, thinking. "Alright. I've got a pickup that needs someone to run it over on Gower Street, at midnight. You'd better be on time, and you'd better get the money here quickly. If you split on us, they won't find you." He sighed, smiling and adding, "I'm glad you're back. I knew it would only be a matter of time with that detective. He's certainly got a skill with people, sometimes, but I don't know what you saw in him. Welcome back to the family."

"It worked," Alice reported back to Sherlock as soon as she got home. He had been sitting in the living room with Chester, typing away at something on his laptop. It looked like some kind of research - there was a video of an autopsy opened in one corner, a half-written email in another, and the other side of the computer had no less than thirty tabs open in one window. "Sherlock, what are you doing?"

"Work. Did you know that you can forge a ten-Pound note with-"

"Sherlock, Moran's got me running drug money pick-ups for now, but… Sherlock, he's taking me back. I've got a job running things now… ugh, it feels like I'm starting all of this over again, all this low-level stuff. But I guess I'll move up in time, right?"

Sherlock looked up from where he was sitting on the floor with Chester. "That's good," he nodded, turning back to his computer. "I've got a case where-"

"Sherlock," Alice frowned, hanging her coat by the door and heading into the kitchen to grab a drink, "this is important."

"Sorry. What is it, then?"

She dropped into the closest chair, handing him a glass of wine. "Well, it's kind of important, you know, that Moran's alright with this, that he's letting me back into his inner circle. That we have a chance, a real chance now, at finding out what Moriarty's had planned for years. We're not going to crack Eurus, she's too good for that. Nut Moran, Moran's not a psychopath. Sure, he's got a huge personality and he's pretty hungry for power, but he's not a psychopath. He may run a criminal enterprise, but the reason he's doing it at all was Moriarty. Now he's bent on some avenging thing, I think. Keep going, keep running everything, that's his last tie to Jim, isn't it?"

Sherlock took a sip of his drink as Chester stood, walked the few steps it took to get over to Alice, where he dropped down at her feet. "You're the psychologist, aren't you? You're probably right, of course."

Alice sighed, seeing that he was wrapped up in what he had been working on. With thirty-six, no, thirty-seven, tabs open on his computer, he was definitely working on something. She sat down next to him on the floor, pointing at his laptop. "What are you doing? You said you're on a new case. What is it?"

"An Albanian armory was broken into. Nothing was stolen, but there was a note, saying something along the lines of 'I'll be back' in Albanian," He told her, pulling up a picture of the note. "Two other government buildings on the Continent have been burglarized in the same way, and have the same note. It's similar to something the Moriarty network would do, leaving clues like this all over the place."

Alice moved closer to the computer screen, taking her glasses off and noting, "I know this handwriting. It's Moran's, I'm sure of it. All three notes matched, you said?"

He nodded, opening another tab. "Look at this. The security footage from each of the crime scenes is missing for an hour around the time the notes were left. They tripped the alarms on purpose, but the cameras were off for a while after the break-ins happened. Each location holds something crucial to national security, each one left untouched. Except for the notes."

"I'll do some noseying around, and I'll let you know when I know anything," Alice promised. "Moran's got a lot of projects he's working on, but I'm sure I could find something on it."

They sat up talking about the case, about what they had been working on, and the work that still needed to be done, well into the night. When they finally got up to go to bed, the clock in the hall was striking half past one in the morning. As Sherlock closed his laptop and hunted down the charger, Alice went to put their wine glasses in the sink, Chester following her into the kitchen. Sherlock came running as soon as he heard the first glass shatter.

She stood a few steps into the kitchen, a shattered glass on the floor next to her. She was staring at the kitchen window, where a note had been pinned in the exact same handwriting that she had seen earlier. "I'll be back."

Sherlock sighed, coming up behind her and guiding her into another corner while he went to get a vacuum. When he returned, Alice was holding the note, flipping it over. She opened the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of lemon juice and smearing the note with it as Sherlock cleaned up the glass. She'd begun drying the lemon juice over the toaster when he finished, looking for any sort of hidden message. Holding up the dried paper to the light, she was joined by Sherlock, who had successfully cleaned up all of the glass. "There's nothing there."

"No, look," she said, reading, "'I'm coming, Mr. Holmes. And I'm getting closer every minute.' Sherlock, this is Moran. I'm going to have to figure out what he's planning before he can do anything. Unless this has something to do with me going to him today. But that wouldn't make sense, would it? He couldn't have hit all of those places in that amount of time, unless he was planning something well in advance."

Shaking his head, Sherlock took the note from her. "He's had this in the works ever since we busted him for trying to blow up Parliament. He's going to try to do something, but he's going to get you to do it. He'll want you to do it, so he can't take the fall."

Alice sighed, taking the note and pinning it to the corkboard on the side of the fridge. "For now, though, we're going to bed. We can deal with this in the morning." As soon as they dropped into bed, however, it was all she could think about. Rolling over to talk to Sherlock, who had left the bathroom door open while he brushed his teeth, Alice yawned. "I'm going to go back to his place tomorrow, see what he wants. I'm going to ask him what the note means, how he got in here."

Sherlock leaned over to spit in the sink, saying, "Be careful, okay?"

"You're not going to tell me not to go?"

"No, you would go anyway," he reasoned, setting his toothbrush down and flicking the lights off. He hung his dressing gown up on the back of the bedroom door before flopping down next to her dramatically. "I know you, Alice. You would find a way to go even if I shipped you off to the edge of the world."

Alice smiled as she reached out for him. "You're right. But this time I'm bringing a gun."

* * *

A.N.: I'm ready to write some good plot twists. For now, though, I'm watching Dexter. And writing, but mostly watching Netflix.


	47. Chapter 47

Alice had been working with Sebastian Moran for years, but it took her some time to regain his trust. Soon enough, though, she was running her own operations and things had all fallen back into place, just like they had all been before. It was a rainy day when she arrived at his house and was given a mission. "You're going to disappear for a while. I need you to lead an operation in Ireland." Moran sat up in his chair, dropping the pile of papers he had been reading onto his desk.

"Okay," she nodded, taking a seat after she had shed her coat and tucked her umbrella into a corner. She could read him easily. She had always been able to, but this was especially easy. _He's tired. He's tired, and he's stressed, and he's plotting something. He's working on something that he's been working on it for a while now. He' thinks I'll do it, but I'm going to have a problem with it. But it's not murder. It's something else, something he thinks I'd say is much worse._ "What do you need me to do?"

John was at work when he got the call. It was nearly the end of the day, but he had to close his practice early. There was no way he was going to wait, no way he was going to let Sherlock go alone. "Tell everyone I'm sorry, there's another clinic down the road," he shook his head, handing a file to the closest nurse. "I'm sorry, but I have to…"

He called Mrs. Hudson on the way. She had been watching Rosie, like usual. It was nice being back at Baker Street, having her there when he needed the help. And Uncle Sherlock and Aunt Alice. All three of them were extremely helpful, and Rosie had fallen for Chester the moment they had met. Now more than ever, he needed Mrs. Hudson to watch her. And he needed her to keep Sherlock in place until he got there.

Sherlock had been woken up early that morning, but he hadn't bothered to nap during the day. Too much work to do. There was a fresh murder in at the morgue, and he had been on the case all day. Alice had woken him up around 5 in the morning, and he had been running around the city since she had left for work.

 _He had been woken up by a gasp, a sharp inhalation and someone grabbing his arm. She'd done this a few times since she had gotten back, but nowhere near as much as he had. He would still wake up in the middle of the night, dreaming of Serbia. But Alice never failed to be there for him or wake up when he did, so he would do the same for her. So he sat up, asking what was wrong, even though he already knew. Alice sat up, brushing her hair out of her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her. She was crying so hard that she had begun to hiccup, so he ran a hand through her hair, asking, "What was it? The same dream?"_

 _She nodded in silence, sniffling. "He… Sherlock, she's locked up. She's locked up and he's dead. But I can't…"_

" _It's okay. Like you said, she's locked up and he's dead. There's no way that they'll come back. I promise," Sherlock told her._

" _I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to… I shouldn't be like this. But I'd had this dream, that Charlie'd started growing up, that they came back, that they had him… You know he's what I think of when I see Rosie. She's everything we could have been, everything we could have had, if it weren't for your sister."_

" _Shh, you'll wake them," he reminded her, pulling his wife closer. John and Rosie had moved back into Baker Street since Mary had died, and were staying in the rooms John had originally inhabited. They'd spent days childproofing everything as best they could. Alice had even persuaded Sherlock to get a mini fridge to keep body parts in. she hadn't been exactly pleased when he'd moved it into their room, but it made sense. Rosie wouldn't be able to stumble upon it that way. But even as they welcomed them into their home, he could see the sadness behind her eyes. He knew that she was thinking about Charlie when she held Rosie, no matter how much she laughed or smiled when they played or sat there coloring or reading. She would look sad when she thought they weren't looking, when John was out or absorbed in a book, when Sherlock was tapping away at his laptop or wound up in an experiment, and when Rosie was paying attention to her toys. She would never say a word about it, but Sherlock would glance over and immediately be able to see it behind her eyes. So he knew what it was whenever she woke up like this. Just like she would know what his dreams were about when he woke in a cold sweat, saying nothing but 'Serbia'. Kissing the top of her head, he added, "I'm sorry. I'm sure Moran makes it worse."_

 _The sun was rising by the time Alice felt any better, so they both resolved to get up, Sherlock going to make coffee as Alice jumped into the shower. Chester sleepily padded over to see what was going on in the kitchen, Sherlock scratching his ears and tossing the dog a treat as he opened the refrigerator. Alice joined him a little while later, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table with a piece of toast in her hand. "It's nice to have an actual kitchen table, isn't it?"_

" _Hmm." Sherlock shrugged, thinking that he would have to finish setting up his experiments in the next room that afternoon. They had cleared the kitchen table off so they could have actual dinners, and Sherlock had gotten a folding table for his experiments, which was set up in the corner of the living room. That way, he could have some sunlight and he would be forced to put everything in the corner at the end of the day. Everything would get locked in the cupboard or moved, so Rosie wouldn't play with any of it. "You're on that murder in Sussex, aren't you?"_

 _She nodded, saying, "The Sussex vampire case, as the press is calling it. They've got a dead… a dead child, and a mother who's locked herself away for days now. I'm going to try to talk to her, and to the other child. They must know something. Greg's pinning it on the mother, but I'm not so sure."_

" _You'll be alright?"_

" _Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Alice asked, both of them thinking back to that morning._

" _Okay. I'm heading down to the morgue as soon as it opens." Sherlock took a sip of his coffee, adding that, "Molly's got a strange case like your vampire. They could even be connected."_

" _Do you want to get dinner later? John's going to be out all day, then it's his turn to do the shopping. We could all meet up somewhere."_

 _That's how he had left her, with plans for dinner and a "have a great day". She'd left for the Yard before heading to Sussex, kissing her husband goodbye. He wouldn't forget it, just like he wouldn't forget anything about her. He simply couldn't._

Sherlock was on his way to a crime scene that Lestrade had called him out to a little ways outside of the city. John was on his way there, since lestrade had called him first, saying Sherlock was going to be there and not back at Baker Street. John had yelled at the cabbie to turn around as soon as he found out, praying that they would beat him there. Luckily, he arrived a few minutes before Sherlock's cab did, giving him time to find Lestrade. "Sh- the body's still in there. We figured he would want to identify it and see the scene," Lestrade said, shaking his hand. "I can't believe this." He lit a cigarette, not thinking about how he had been doing so well. It had been weeks since he'd had one, but now…

It was a normal looking block of flats, but it had become more and more run down as time went by. It still wasn't a terrible place to be, but not a place he'd like to have Rosie grow up in. "Do they have any idea who did it? Or what happened?" John asked, looking over Lestrade's shoulder to get a glimpse into the roped-off building. "God, I can't believe… after everything that's happened…"

"No," Lestrade said simply, taking a drag from his cigarette. "I'll warn you, it's brutal."

Another cab pulled up to the side of the road, Sherlock throwing a few Pounds at the driver before jogging over to where John and Lestrade stood. "Where?"

Lestrade nodded towards the house, grabbing Sherlock's arm as he tried to run inside. "I'm telling you, mate, it's bad. Whoever did this… there are no fingerprints on the body. They've been burnt off, probably with some sort of acid. The face… it's not pretty, Sherlock. At all."

The detective nodded grimly, heading inside. John followed a few paces behind, giving him space. As Sherlock entered the flat, the forensics team stepped away. They stopped taking pictures, stopped dusting for prints, stopped placing evidence markers. One by one, they filed out of the room as Sherlock rounded the sofa to see the corpse that he had always feared seeing.

It was her. There was no way it couldn't have been her. She was wearing the same clothes that she'd had on when she left the flat that morning. Her glasses had been smashed, but they were near the body. Her wedding ring had been stolen, along with her wallet and her phone - none of them were in her coat pockets. Sherlock sank to his knees, ignoring all forensic procedure as he took one of her hands, seeing that the prints had indeed been burned off. He ran a hand through the ginger hair that had been matted with blood, which was still drying. None of the features were distinct anymore. Whatever had been done to the body, the killer certainly knew how to destroy evidence. "Alice…" John and Lestrade stood at the doorway, not wanting to intrude. "It's her." Sherlock looked up at them through quickly reddening eyes, saying, "That's what you wanted, an identification, right?" He looked back down at the corpse, shaking his head. "Alice…"

"Sherlock, they're going to need to -"

"Give me a moment, Lestrade, will you?" His voice was hollow, filling up with misery as he spoke. "My wife is dead. Give me a moment."

Lestrade nodded, stepping out of the room. John followed, but stopped halfway out fo the door. "I'll be right outside, if you need me."

Sherlock didn't respond, John taking his leave in silence. The detective sighed, allowing tears to roll down his cheeks only after the door had been closed. He leaned down, again not caring about forensic procedure (really, they could sort his DNA out from anything else they picked up from the body - sure, it would take time, but it wasn't terribly difficult) before embracing her. The body had started to cool, but it wasn't much colder than she had been when she had hugged him goodbye that morning.

He thought back to the rainy day that they had met, on official business. Back to the first proper date they had been on. And the day he had had to fake his death, how much she had cried. Then when he came back, and when he had almost had to go off to Eastern Europe. And their wedding day, and that night, how they had sat together, watching crime shows and eating junk food. Every day before and every day after, how lucky he had always felt to have someone like her. But now, she was lying on the floor of an old flat, one that had probably been a drug den until the latest round of busts. His brain had slowed from its usual hundreds of kilometers a minute to focus on one thought - what he had lost. He wasn't paying attention to the details, wasn't focused on the mystery or on what had happened. All he could focus on and all he felt was the deep sense of loss.

When John came back into the room to tell him that the forensics team needed to take the body, he found the detective sobbing, holding his wife's body close. Sherlock allowed him to pull him up, walk him through the door, and deposit him into a chair, where he sat, covered in quickly drying blood, as they put the body in a bag. Everything was numb. Sherlock didn't pay attention to anyone or anything, lost in his thoughts.

He let John take him home, saying nothing in the cab. When they got back to Baker Street, John went to deal with the sobbing Mrs. Hudson, who was trying and failing not to cry in front of Rosie. Sherlock shed his coat, dropping clothes on the floor as he headed for the shower, scrubbing all of the blood off. He managed to shower, put pajamas on, and drop into bed, trying to keep his mind empty. When his head hit the pillow, he started to cry again, finding that half of the pillows smelled like her.

He held one of them tightly, the weight of the day hitting him again like a wave. It was like one of those waves that you'd jump into as a kid, thinking you could handle swimming through it, but then winding up on the sand, coughing and gasping for air. All he could do was sit there sobbing in pain.

John eventually came in, sitting with him until he could breathe properly. John had Rosie in his arms, and the little girl, not totally understanding what was wrong with Uncle Sherlock, kept playing with his hair as John told them both stories, talking about anything and everything that he could think of to calm them down. It was well after sunset that Rosie had fallen asleep and Sherlock had closed his eyes peacefully, drifting off into a somewhat peaceful sleep, haunted by dreams of Alice, of all of the happy times that they had shared together. John sighed, throwing another blanket over Sherlock before gently picking Rosie up and taking her to her bed. He and Mrs. Hudson would stay up late talking and crying together, trying in vain to process what had happened.


	48. Chapter 48

Sherlock strode into the Sherrinford Island prison confidently, knowing that this was the only place he could find answers. After a brief security check, he made his way down to the maximum security cell that Eurus was being held in, nodding to the guards, who now wore earplugs and spent all day listening to music, television shows, and podcasts so they would not be brainwashed. There would be no danger of them being reprogrammed if they couldn't hear her. Instead, a computer system analyzed anything that she said and reported it back to Mycroft and the other directors.

"Well hello there, brother dear. Today isn't your scheduled visit. Oh dear," she turned to face him, seeing that something was clearly wrong.

"I want answers, Eurus," he told her flatly, walking up to the glass.

"For what?"

"You know."

"I most certainly do. You're exhausted, you haven't shaved, and it looks like you've slept in those clothes. You rushed here, like you always run everywhere when you're inspired. You know, Mycroft had to catch you when you ran down the stairs too fast and nearly broke something. You'd thought up an idea during dinner, and as soon as Mum and Dad had excused you, you tore into the basement to work on that chemistry set. My, my, you've been twisting that wedding ring on your finger. She was a nice girl, wasn't she? Too bad she's dead. She was at least interesting to talk to. She would tell me about the other people here, about what they did. Jerry, the cannibal on the third floor, he really is a neat one."

"I knew it. I knew you had something to do with this. Who killed her?" he pressed, Eurus looking at him curiously.

She smiled a bit, saying, "You're tearing up already. How sweet. I might need a tissue… I wish I had some popcorn. Ooh, I really wish I did. That drug-fueled nightmare you're going to spiral into is going to be fascinating. The last one was good, but this, this one is going to be art."

Sherlock paced away from the glass, only turning to look at her when he had approached the door. "You may not feel any sort of attachment to people, but… It may not seem like it, but I do have feelings, no matter how supressed they may be. And I loved her. I love her. I always will, with everything that I am. Even if you don't feel it, you must be able to understand it, on some level. She's my wife, and I want to know what happened to her. If you know anything, please, tell me." He paced back towards the glass, stopping just short of the 'safety line' that was not supposed to be crossed. "I'll have them send you something if you tell me who did it. All I need is a name."

"What's in it for me?" she mused, sitting down on her bed and crossing her legs like a bemused twelve-year old. "Sure, you'll have them send me something. Some kind of guarantee that is."

"What do you want? Mycroft's sent you a new violin, he gave you time with Moriarty, what do you want? I'll make sure you get it," he bargained.

"Hmm," Eurus thought aloud, "I wish I could say more time with her, but that's not an option. She really was something, wasn't she? Brilliant, but so much wasted potential. I have no idea why she troubled herself with you. But if you really want to know, I want to talk to Lord Moran. No cameras."

"Who did it?"

"You already know."

No matter what Sherlock tried, she refused to continue talking. After an hour of talking at the glass, he gave up with a sigh and left, heading back to Baker Street. Pacing the room wasn't fruitful, Chester following on his heels for a while but finally getting tired and sitting down. Sherlock eventually flopped onto the sofa, again not being able to think of anything. Mrs. Hudson brought in tea, glad to see that he was up and out of bed, but when she realized that he wasn't going to talk, she left a teacup in a saucer on the table, saying she would be back with dinner later. _You already know._

 _You already know. You know who did this, you know who put it together. You already know. You must know. Think. THINK! Who would target her? There were plenty on the list, but Moran, Moran was the one. It had to be him. He'd gotten the information out of her that he wanted, and then he'd disposed of her. It was just like Moriarty's network. It must have been him._ Sherlock jumped up in a sudden inspiration, Chester jumping up too, startled.

He grabbed his coat, shouting goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and winding his scarf around his neck as he dashed down the stairs. A cab ride later, he was on Moran's doorstep, knocking. Within seconds, he was whisked inside by an assistant, who promised that Moran would be downstairs in "Just a moment, Mr. Holmes. Tea? Coffee? Water?"

"Fine, thanks," Sherlock nodded, taking a seat, which he lept out of defensively as soon as Moran entered the room. He strode over to where Moran stood and had him by the collar in seconds. "What did you do to her?"

"Let me down, Mr. Holmes. I had nothing to do with killing your wife."

"It's no coincidence that you're out of prison on a technicality when she dies. You had a hand in it and I need to know."

"Unhand me, Mr. Holmes, before I call the police!" Moran demanded, his face growing red. Sherlock dropped him, walking to the window before turning around, his eyes growing red.

He dropped into the closest chair with a sigh, rubbing his eyes and looking up at Moran, who was massaging his neck and scowling. "Please, at least tell me one thing: Did she suffer?"

"If I had any idea what you're talking about, I would tell you. But for her own sake, I hope she didn't. We knew each other once, a long time ago," Moran told him, taking a seat. "We were friends, if you can believe it. But she left us, Jim and I, years ago. And then she met you, and there was no convincing her to come back. So no, I haven't seen her for years. I saw the notice of her death, though. I would have gone to the funeral, but," he shrugged, "I don't think I would have been very welcome."

Seeing that he would be getting nowhere with Moran either, Sherlock took a deep breath, stood, and announced, "I'm sure I will be in touch. But for now, I know you did this. No matter who you may be or what your order in the British Empire, I promise you, you are not immune to prosecution. And even if you are, even if you befriend every judge, every barrister, I promise you, there are people out there who would much rather see you dead. Just a friendly warning." Sherlock spun on his heel and left without another word. Yes, Moran had a hand in this. And he would be watched, since the Homeless Network had just been set on alert. They would track his every move and report back if anything seemed suspicious.

There was nothing more he could do until he heard something, until Moran slipped up. It had to be him, especially since Alice had recently gotten back in touch with him. Moran knew something, and he was going to find out. The sun was setting as he headed back to Baker Street, but it was much later when he arrived, having made a stop elsewhere to contact a few members of the Homeless Network, who delivered information and things he had sent out for that afternoon.

Mrs. Hudson had left a note on the door, saying that there were leftovers in the microwave if he got hungry, and that she had taken Chester for a walk while he was gone. Throwing the note in the bin, Sherlock hung up his coat, thinking. _Mrs. Hudson is out at her Bridge Club. She won't be home until later. John and Rosie are down in their flat. He thinks I'm out, no idea when I'll be back. It's only me and the dog. That means a couple of hours of privacy, at least._

No one should have been up anytime soon, but he locked the door either way, retreating into his bedroom. He had been craving this moment all day, but had pushed the sense into his subconscious. But now, now that he was home and everyone was out and there was nothing to do for a while but wait… He threw open the bathroom door, searching furtively for the hidden compartment under the sink. Sure, Alice may have known, but she never did anything about it. She probably didn't know. She trusted him. She trusted that he was clean, and she never would have suspected he would hide things that close. She stood in front of that compartment every day, brushing her teeth or doing her makeup. People don't notice things if they see them every day. They don't really notice.

Finding what he had been searching for, he closed the cabinet carefully before retreating to the bedroom. He dropped onto the bed, setting the bottle down on his nightstand. In the throws of rising moonlight, he rolled up his left sleeve, exposing the arm that had been scarred with countless puncture marks. At first, he had been careful, injecting in almost the same spot in the crook of his elbow or in the few freckles dotted around it, places where people really wouldn't question it. But eventually, he had stuck the needle wherever he could reach, wherever was convenient when he needed that high. She knew that. Of course she knew.

The first time she had seen, he had been working on a project in the kitchen and unconsciously rolled up his sleeves as he leaned over a hotplate. It was the middle of summer, and they all had been practically melting. She'd known a bit about his drug habit, but when she had gone to get a glass of water, she'd stopped in her tracks, making him look down at his own arm. She hadn't asked, but had instead walked over, pulled on a pair of gloves, and took his hand. " _Years of it, right? Well, I'm proud of you, being clean for so long. If you ever need anything, or if you're tempted to start again… well, I'm here."_

With a sigh, he prepared the needle carefully. If nothing else, he had always been careful. Never the same needle twice, and always a fresh one. John had been watching at first, making sure he didn't smuggle drugs into the flat, but since he had passed the first night without incident, John had let down his guard. But for the past day, Sherlock had been craving that rush, that dreamlike state, that slowing down and stretching out of time. So he plunged the needle into his arm, setting it next to the tiny bottle on the bedside table as it washed over him.

As the drugs overtook his system, he let out a sigh of relief, laying back on a pile of pillows. There was the familiar rush, the one thing that was always a constant. The warmth, like a blanket being spread out over him, the feeling that nothing was wrong and all was calm in the world. It had been Alice who had made him feel like that before, Alice who had been able to quiet that whirring mind, even if it was only for a little while. But now she was gone, and all he had was the needle. It would be enough for that night, at least. He knew that he would start to seek it out again, every night that he felt that emptiness where Alice had been, the nagging emptiness that she had somehow managed to stop. He didn't care, though. She was gone, and that's what he had left.

Something brushed along his arm, making Sherlock glance over at the other side of the bed. He could have sworn that he had seen the impression of her for a second, but no, it had been in one of the corners of his Mind Palace. She was gone, and he was alone, locked in that room, laying on the bed and taking in the sensation of the drugs coursing through his veins. As another wave of heroin-induced happiness washed over him, Sherlock twisted his wedding band on his finger, thinking of Alice. If anyone happened to look in the window that night,they would be able to clearly discern the detective sprawled out on his bed, the needle on the table beside him. But the careful observer would note that even through the false happiness of the drugs, he was shedding a few tears, ones that could not be stopped, even with the needle that he had so long depended upon to numb the pains of the world.


	49. Chapter 49

A.N.: I'm going to go stay with my best friend tomorrow, and then we're heading back to uni the next day. I haven't seen him in a week and I can't wait to move into a new dorm, organize stuff, and start this next chapter in our lives!

* * *

Sherlock woke from his drugged haze, rubbing his eyes and looking at the clock on his nightstand, where he had balanced his needle the night before. He rolled out of bed, running a hand through his hair as he brushed his teeth, yawning as he went to make a cup of coffee. Each morning seemed to go like this - he would get up, sometimes from a drug-fueled dream world, and head out into London, trying to see if he could make anything out of Alice's death.

There were two options - to believe it was faked, and to mourn. Sherlock chose both. While the Homeless Network tracked down possible leads, Sherlock would often go back to where the body had been found, looking for clues. Of course, everything had been cleaned up and taken away by the Scotland Yard crew, but he still went by, hoping that he would be able to glean some new insight from being there. Besides, it was the last place she had been. In an odd sense, it was kind of like being close to her. He would, of course, spend hours in the cemetery, next to her headstone. He'd talk to it sometimes, like he had listened to Alice talk to his headstone while he had been gone. Even when he was working on another case, he would stop there to think, spending time contemplating the facts of the case next to her headstone and sometimes discussing them aloud, even though he never got a response.

Of course, there weren't that many cases now. The letters and emails were still arriving in droves, and had been piled all over the flat for a while now. Clients showed up on the doorstep all of the time. If John was in, he would bring them inside his part of the flat, ask them a few questions, and try his best to solve the cases that they brought. Once or twice, Sherlock would offer his opinion, but most of the time, he was silent, laying around the flat in his pajamas or playing the violin. Half of the letters and emails were still consolation messages, but the ones Mrs. Hudson set aside "for the boys" often went unanswered. She tried her best to help filter through them and send thank-you notes, and John did all he could for their clients, but Sherlock would have almost none of it. He didn't feel like solving anything other than the mystery of who had killed Alice, how, and why. And then figure out how to get them back for it. Whenever he rushed into Scotland Yard, Lestrade would smile a bit, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this time he was here to help. But no, Sherlock would just go down to the evidence locker, signing things out from Alice's case and going over them time and time again.

Sherlock rolled out of bed that morning to coffee already brewing. Assuming Mrs. Hudson was up and about, he went about his business, brushing his teeth and grabbing a new shirt, thinking that he needed to do laundry. Or, rather, he needed to ask Mrs. Hudson to do laundry. _No, I just need to bring the hamper down to the laundry room. Okay, that would mean moving the hamper. That would mean_ \- he went through a cycle like that, finally deciding that it could wait and that it would be too much effort for that day. _Alice would ask you to move it. Or she would have went to do laundry herself. She would want you to have fresh clothes. You're running out, and she wouldn't like it._ That was pretty much how he motivated himself to do anything, thinking of what she would want. He sighed, grabbing his dressing gown and heading into the kitchen, but stopping abruptly when he saw someone standing there. "Molly."

She had Rosie balanced on her hip, and was busy making coffee as she hummed along with the radio. "Morning. Black, two sugars."

"Oh, uh, thank you."

"John's gone off to have lunch with Harry," Molly told him, "and he asked me to watch Rosie here. Isn't that right, Rosie? He'll be back later on in the afternoon. There are leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry."

Sherlock spent a while ignoring Molly and Rosie, who were busy playing on the floor as he worked. Well, he was scrolling through the news, looking for anything that would indicated Alice being alive. He knew that he had slipped up sometimes, finding himself in the papers after a particular few feats on his way back from the dead. But there was nothing. As Rosie sat there coloring, Molly was sorting through a pile of letters. One of them caught her attention. "Sherlock, if you're not going to do any sort of work, you should at least look at this one."

"I don't feel like working. Unless it's news about Alice, I don't want to read it."

"Sherlock, it's a triple murder. One brother in every generation. You've got to at least look at it." Molly stood, dropping the letter on his keyboard so he had no other choice but to look at it. She went back to Rosie as Sherlock glanced over it.

Nothing stood out except for the fact that the letter was fake. Everything about it was fake. The paper was not a formal letterhead, but one that had had a letterhead printed on it after the letter itself was written. The handwriting, signed with a man's name, looped and swirled for too much to be considered typically male. And the story, well, the story made no sense when if was read over with a clear mind. He nearly threw it away, but stopped when he noticed the pinpricks in some of the letters. "It's a code," he announced, dropping onto the floor next to Rosie and picking up a crayon, circling all of the letters that had pinpricks through them.

Molly waited a moment for him to finish, regarding the detective before asking, "Well, what's it say?"

Sherlock read the circled letters aloud. "'You need help. Don't worry, a friend is coming.'"

"Well that could mean anything," Molly shrugged, grabbing Rosie's cup of juice before it was knocked off of the table.

He shook his head. "It isn't from you, it isn't from John. This is a woman's handwriting, and not Mrs. Hudson's. Or Alice's, for that matter. It could be nothing, but it seems to be something more than that."

"Well, you'll find out soon enough, I'm sure."

Sherlock picked at his lunch, falling asleep on the sofa in the midafternoon. When he woke up, he could hear footsteps in the dining room, clearing away dishes. Molly must have been making Rosie a snack. He yawned, sitting up and glancing into the next room. No, it wasn't Molly. It was someone he had never expected to show up in his flat, never again. "Good morning, sleepyhead," the woman smiled. "You've been out for a while. What? I told you a friend would be dropping by. At least I let you know!"

"If anyone sees you here… the press thinks you're dead. Hell, John thinks you're dead."

"Which is why I came over while he's out doing the shopping and Mrs. Hudson is vacuuming downstairs," Irene Adler smirked, taking a seat on one of the armrests of his chair. "I thought I would come by and offer my condolences in person. I made it to the funeral, but i kept my face covered. Janine wouldn't have any of it. She refused to come. But Alice and I, well, Alice is such a nice girl. I had to go, even if I didn't say a word to anyone."

Sherlock bolted up, pouncing on the words she had used. "'Is'? You've always been in league with Moriarty and Moran. What do you know?" he pressed.

"Nothing," Irene assured him, shaking her head sadly. "I miss her, like you do. She was my assistant for a while, you remember. And we knew each other through Moriarty. Even after I ducked into the shadows, we would get together for coffee or fish and chips sometimes. She was always a treat, someone from the past I could still talk to."

"Why are you here, then? You wouldn't come all the way here from Sussex just to give your condolences," Sherlock reasoned, looking her over. "You took a train in this morning, but you waited until now to get here. That means you waited for Molly to leave and Mrs. Hudson to start her cleaning. Simple enough, sitting outside at Speedy's for hours, ordering a sandwich and multiple cups of coffee. You wouldn't have camped out there, possibly blowing your cover, unless it was important. Anyone passing on the street could have recognized you, and you must have been outside to see Molly leave. It must be important."

"Very good. I see you haven't really lost your edge after all." Irene stood, starting to pace around the flat. "You know, I really thought you'd lost it after she died. When I came in here, I knew you'd started to go. You've got crap piled up everywhere. She would have made you clean. There are letters stacked all over your table, and your email alert has gone off 57 times since I got here an hour ago. You're not caring about the cases like you used to, and you're back to using again."

"That is no answer to my question," Sherlock pointed out as Irene picked up a dust-covered book, reading the blurb on the back.

"Okay, you want to know why I'm here?" She set the book down, confessing, "I don't think she's dead." Irene dropped into a chair, explaining that, "I've been seeing things, small things, clues, almost. Nothing too big or too much of a giveaway, but I've seen her signature on a couple of things." She pulled a file out of her bag, which was filled with highlighted printouts of news stories and blog posts. Passing it over to Sherlock, she gave him a moment to look at the papers before continuing, "I know, it looks like I'm a woman cooped up inside with nothing better to do than connect dots that don't exist, right? But give it a chance and look everything over. They all look like her, don't they? They're just glimpses of women in the back of news clips, or in the background of photos. A couple of words in a blog post, or a stray phrase in a chat room. But it's something, isn't it?"

Sherlock didn't reply right away, flicking through the papers again. Restlessly, Irene jumped up to look over his shoulder. "Well? What do you think? Am I right?"

"It can't be. I saw her myself. I... I held her body myself. She's dead."

"You saw me laid out on a slab, and yet here I am," Irene reminded him, pointing to a printout from a BBC story on an upcoming Parliament vote. "Look at that MP. Doesn't the woman in the suit look like her? And there, that picture from the Times, look at the doctor there. Sure, she has a face mask on, but look. That's her. And there, that photo. Janine brought me that one from the paper. That has to be her. Sherlock, she's alive."

"It's impossible." He shook his head, leaning back on the sofa.

"Nothing is impossible," Irene urged. "She's out there."

"Why are you so interested?" Sherlock wanted to know. "You could have stayed back in Sussex, living your life. But instead you sneak over here with a pile of printouts and theories that hinge on background glimpses of a woman with red hair, much like seven percent of the population in the UK. Oh, and glasses, which loads of people have."

"I may not have anything much to win or lose here, she was - is - a good person. And she means a lot to you. It's tearing you apart, and someone has to keep you on this case. And I miss her. She was one of the few people who still knew... who I am, who I was. Everyone out there in Sussex, they all think I'm a schoolteacher who lives with her girlfriend. Some despicably average woman. Alice knew, and she would visit. She knew how important it was for me to be able to think, to stretch my mind once in a while. So we would talk. She would bring me cases to see what I thought. We need to solve this. I need you to solve this. Because you're tearing yourself apart, and honestly, we're all we have left."

"You want my help?"

" _You_ want your help. You have to chase this, or you'll self-destruct even more than you already have been," she reasoned. "You have to take this case. You wanted to, from the moment it happened, but you needed someone to bring it to you. You can't sit in your own client's chair. You needed me to bring this to you. And you needed someone to show you that they believe it too, that you're not mad for thinking she could still be out there. You may think you can divorce yourself from the situation, numb it all until it doesn't hurt anymore, but you are painfully human."

Sherlock was silent, standing to look out of the window. Irene watched him, listening as he finally spoke. "I am a living, breathing human being. I've lived a life, I have a past, I'm as much flesh and blood as the rest of you are. And it may not seem like it all of the time, but I do have… feelings. And I have loved. I still do. I love her, and that is the only that that's keeping me going right now. So you're right. I do need this case, more than I've ever needed a case before. I'm falling, and this is the only thing keeping me from hitting rock bottom."

Somewhere in the distance, a phone was ringing. Sherlock turned to see Irene holding out his mobile, which was buzzing. "It's her."

"It can't be."

Irene raised an eyebrow, offering him the phone. Sure enough, the caller ID said that Alice was ringing him. He took the phone from her, accepting the call and putting it on speaker. At first, no one spoke. "Hello? Alice, is that you? Please tell me… give me one word. Anything, just to let me know you're alive."

As they huddled together in suspense, the phone was silent. Sherlock was just about to speak again when the voice on the other end of the line granted his request. There was only one word, but it was unmistakably Alice's voice that spoke it. "Samarra."


	50. Chapter 50

"'Samarra'?" Irene asked as the line went dead. "What's that? Isn't it a city in Iraq? Why would she be there?"

Sherlock nodded. "That's not what she means, though. It's not a reference to the place. I don't think she's there. It's a story, one Mycroft always told me as a kid. She… she heard me telling Rosie one day, and she said it wasn't something for a kid to hear. But it's a lesson."

"Well what's the story?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, trying to remember it word-for-word as he had always heard it from Mycroft. "There was once a merchant in the famous market at Baghdad. One day he saw a stranger looking at him in surprise. And he knew that the stranger was Death. Pale and trembling, the merchant fled the marketplace and made his way many, many miles to the city of Samarra, for there he was sure Death could not find him. But when at last he came to Samarra, the merchant saw waiting for him the grim figure of Death. 'Very well,' said the merchant. 'I give in. I am yours. But tell me, why did you look surprised when you saw me this morning in Baghdad?' 'Because,' said Death, 'I had an appointment with you tonight in Samarra'."

Irene bit her lip, thinking for a moment before saying, "So she means that this was something inevitable. There was no way she could stop it. She had to die, or she had to make it seem like she was dead. But why?"

"It's for me," Sherlock realized. "This is Moran. He wants to break me, and with me out of commission, he can take over London without having to worry. Or this is her working through Moran. He was going to do it anyway, so she took over and did it on her own terms."

"How do you know you're right? I mean, that could have been a sound bite taken from any time, and her things were all given back to you, right? So how could they have gotten her phone?"

"I had John pick them up. I couldn't bear to do anything. It was all John. The funeral arrangements, the obituary, all of it. He had to get me up to go. I… couldn't bring myself to bury her. I could hardly get out of bed."

"Everyone tries to avoid Samarra, but it's only a matter of time. You've got to find her before Moran kills her. If he can't use her to get information about you, how is she any more special than the people he's already got? That'll be what really wraps this up, killing her off as soon as he's sure you're not going to be able to bounce back," Irene thought aloud.

"Then we've got to find her," Sherlock resolved, jumping to his feet. He strode over a table and up onto the sofa, looking at the map pinned to his evidence wall. "If he's hiding her, we'll need to raid all of his safe houses in London." He sent a group text to the Homeless Network, saying that he needed people at all of Moran's potential hideaways.

"Hmm, not so fast. You're operating on the assumption that he let her stay in London."

"Well then where do you suggest we look?"

Alice was sitting in bed, looking over one of the oldest bazaars in Iraq. She had been there for nearly two and a half weeks now, having been whisked away as soon as she'd handed over what she had been wearing and complied with the instructions she had been given. She opened her phone, scrolling through pictures she had taken with Sherlock. Again. It was all she had left of him. She had her wedding band, since they'd smuggled it out of Evidence for her. And she had all of her memories. She would replay his voice in her head when she was trying to go to sleep, when all she could think of was Moran and Moriarty. It was nothing compared to having him with her, but there was no way she would be able to see him again for a very long time.

She'd been able to call him that day, if only for a few seconds, because she'd figured out how to get the recording chip out of her phone. It couldn't have been any longer of a call, since Moran was tracking the chip, and if it moved for too long, he would know. But she'd been able to hear his voice again and clue him in to the fact that she was still alive, so all was well. He would know, and he would hunt her down while she tried to throw off Moran's tail from inside Iraq.

There wasn't a whole lot for her to do in Samarra, so she had pretty much been given free reign of the city. She was being watched, of course, but not all of the time. She'd already been able to figure out when the phone tracker and recording chip were active and use the downtime to give Sherlock a call, so shaking off her guards would be fairly easy. Moran seemed to neglect the fact that she was just as well trained as he was, perhaps better.

Alice stood, glancing out into the growing darkness. Somewhere, thousands of miles away, Sherlock would still be awake. She knew he wouldn't be taking any cases. He would be bent on finding her now, since she had been able to contact him. If he'd heard, he would be booking the next flight out of Heathrow to Baghdad, and calling for a car to get to Samarra. There was no way she could leave, not yet. There was still so much to do. She grabbed a scarf at the door, pinning it on as she made her way into the hall.

Stepping out into the lobby of the hotel she had been put up in, she said hello to the man at the desk, asking if there was, "Any post today, Hasan?"

"Not today, ma'am. Lord Moran sent a cable for you, though. He says that 'all is well with the plan in London. I need you to remain in place and continue to report'. That is all," he told her, handing over the cable for her to read. "Best be careful out there. It is going to be dark before long."

"I'll be fine. I should be, no, I will be back within the hour. I'm just going to meet a friend for a bit." She said her goodbyes, leaving the hotel and heading towards the marketplace. Shops were closing up in the bazaar, men and women stacking up their merchandise to carry away in carts or locking up their shops. Alice liked the controlled chaos of the bazaar at the end of the day, where young children chased after each other and the chickens that always seemed to escape from the Al-Jamils' tent. Teenagers were helping their parents put their wares away or handling final transactions, and some women were usually cooking dinner with the things they had left over. The heat of the day was finally giving way to the cool breeze that came through at night, and everything was beginning to calm down.

She stopped at the same tent she visited every day, nodding in respect to the old woman who sat there while her son and daughter-in-law packed things up. " _As-salaam 'alaykum_ ," Alice smiled, the old woman nodding in response. "Is Ibrahim around?"

The old woman nodded again, telling her, "He is in playing with that radio again, like always. Talking to your friend."

" _Shukran gazilan_ , Maryam." Alice thanked her, heading into the tent, where a young man sat in front of a ham radio, listening for the proper channel. He waved to her, taking one off one side of his headphones.

"It is almost time." Alice took a seat next to him, listening as the BBC News report started. She had been visiting Maryam, her grandson, and his family for days, since they were some of the few people able to access the news. It was rare that Ibrahim was able to send out messages, but he could usually find the BBC broadcast, which kept Alice in the loop and allowed her to get information from a source that wasn't controlled by Moran. She had explained her visits to the bazaar away by telling him that she had made friends with the family. Conveniently for her, Ibrahim's uncle was an arms dealer who had worked with Moran and Moriarty in the past, so Moran saw no problems with this. Meanwhile, Ibrahim largely sympathized with Alice, since his sister had died working with Moriarty's network.

The news broadcast was nothing great, but nothing earth-shatteringly terrible either. It was going to rain in London, the United States was still in turmoil after the election, the French election grounds were still looking rocky, and there was still conflict in the Middle East. When the reporter signed off half an hour later, Ibrahim asked if she wanted to try communicating with the outside world again. They'd only been able to successfully send one message, when he had blocked air traffic for a moment so she could call Sherlock, but there was always hope to try again. "It's alright. I've done what I can in that regard, but I'm going to need your help soon. I need you to get some things for me."

He switched off the radio, setting his headphones around his neck. "What do you need?"

"I'm going to need fake travel documents. Give me a new identity, it doesn't matter. I just need a government paper saying why I'm going to the capital. They just have to be good enough to get through the city and into Baghdad. And I'm going to need a way to get there." She pulled a fistfull of cash out of her bad, handing it over. "By this time tomorrow evening. And, if you could manage it, a gun and a good distraction from the police."

While Irene still figured Samarra was a metaphor, Sherlock had moved on from that idea and now thought otherwise. Where better to hide someone whose death you had faked than thousands of miles away in a city that was highly government and militarily controlled, with little communication with the outside world? Now, would it be best to go there and find her, or to wait? He resolved that they would wait, but he would try to call her again, in case she picked up the phone. If there was even an off-chance that she could be alive, he wanted to know. Of course, they could be wrong. It could have been a voice clip cut from any number of times she had mentioned the city, and someone else could have her phone. But Sherlock felt otherwise.

John came over with some groceries later that evening, after Irene had left. She'd promised that she would look into safe houses around the city and into continental Europe, in case Alice was hidden there. And she would keep an eye on the news, in case Alice showed up again, signalling that she was still out there. "What are you up to?" John asked, putting a carton of milk in the refrigerator. Sherlock had stopped cleaning out the fridge and rarely went shopping since Alice had died, and it really was a sad sight to see. "How are you doing? It's good to see you're working on something."

Sherlock had his laptop open and was sitting on the sofa, trying to hack into Alice's accounts and open the 'find my phone' feature. "Trying to find something. What's Alice's birthday?"

"16 October," John answered, setting a box of spaghetti in the pantry.

ACCESS DENIED.

"Anniversary, then," Sherlock thought aloud.

"Ides of March."

"I know that," the detective frowned, trying the code as he muttered, "It's engraved in my wedding band."

John smirked as the computer beeped another ACCESS DENIED message. He thought for a second before suggesting, "Why don't you try seeing if she wrote it down anywhere? You know her, she wouldn't use numbers that are that obvious."

"You know her, she wouldn't leave passwords lying around," Sherlock answered before typing in another code. "Got it." The GPS took a second to appear, but soon confirmed his suspicions: She was in Samarra, downtown in the bazaar. Three hours' time difference made it an extremely odd hour to get some shopping done, especially after dark in a marketplace like that. Perhaps she had an appointment.


	51. Chapter 51

The agents in charge of Alice were living in the rooms next to hers. All of them connected, and they would often come over and play cards or have a few glasses of wine together. That's what made this so much harder. They weren't quite friends, but they were decent people. She spent that night sitting up with them, getting them sufficiently drunk before sending her captors off to bed.

They had had an awful lot to drink, which gave her a perfect excuse to hole herself up in the bathroom of her hotel room. Alice made sure to lock the door, opening the cabinets to retrieve the things she had been storing there for days. Ibrahim had been bringing her things for a while, simple things like pool chemicals and acetone. But put together, the small stockpile she had would be powerful enough to get her out of there.

It was kind of surreal, sitting there in the odd lighting of the bathroom, surrounded by homemade funnels and plastic containers, measuring things out with the coffee spoons that were left near the coffee machine every day. Alice smiled, thinking of how strange she must look, balanced on the rug and surrounded by all sorts of materials. All sorts of materials that would soon become a bomb. She had to be careful as she spooned chemicals out into coffee cups and stirred them together with plastic straws. Any sort of spark or static could set some of the mixtures off. At bare minimum, it would start a fire. At most, the entire bathroom would explode, her too. She spooned out a bit of concentrated fertilizer, humming along with the song she was listening to. This time tomorrow, if all went well, she would be on a red-eye flight heading back to England. She would be back by lunchtime. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine, just, er, lady problems. Pour me another glass, I'll be out in a minute."

Baker Street was quiet. John had put Rosie to bed, and was watching the news as Sherlock worked. He had tracked Alice out from the bazaar and back to a hotel, which looked like a nice place to stay. He'd looked it up on a satellite imaging software put out by British Intelligence services. MI6 was really quite helpful, especially when hacked into with Mycroft's credentials. "Sherlock, are you sure they aren't fooling you? All of this evidence could have been faked. There's nothing that really means she's alive," John spoke up when Sherlock let out a sigh of frustration after being kicked out of the MI6 site.

Sherlock turned to look at him, saying, "I know. But when I died, she still believed in me. She always believed I was alive, didn't she? She was at the funeral, she saw the body...she kept looking for answers for two years."

"Yes, but Sherlock, sometimes we have to accept things like this. I kept trying to get her to accept it and move on, but she refused," John confessed. "Hell, I even tried to set her up with one of my friends, and she walked out of the restaurant in tears. It took months for Lestrade to get her to focus on other cases instead of working on your case all day. Sherlock, she almost died overworking herself to try to prove that you were alive. You're going to do the same thing if you keep on investigating like this."

"I'll be fine, John." He had gone back to work, trying to see if he could find any news footage from Samarra.

"Have you eaten today?"

"Yes. Mrs. Hudson brought up lunch and Ire- I got something delivered for dinner."

"Hmm. Good."

"Do you think this is her?"

"Sherlock, that's a grainy, two-second glimpse of a woman in the background of a weather report," John sighed. He switched the television off, adding, "I'm going to head for bed. Make sure you get some sleep tonight, huh? And maybe do your laundry tomorrow, even if that's the only thing you get done around here. At least move it into the laundry room for Mrs. Hudson. WIth her hip acting up, it'll help her out. Goodnight, Sherlock."

"'Night, John," he mumbled, rewinding the video again.

John shook his head, going downstairs as Sherlock kept working, trying to slow down the footage and enhance the quality of it frame-by-frame. There would be no turning to the needles tonight. Instead, Sherlock had slapped on some nicotine patches and gone back to the computer, still trying to enhance the images. This zeal kept him up until 3 AM, when he finally decided to go to bed after hours of fruitless searching and filtering. As he fell into bed, he looked over to Alice's side. Instinctively, he reached out for her, finding only a handful of blankets.

Alice went to bed around 3 AM local time in Samarra. She had readied everything, carefully stowing it all back under the bathroom sink. As she lay down, she double-checked that the book of matches she had lifted from the front desk was still in the nightstand drawer. Yes, they were there. Turning the lights off, Alice sighed. Tomorrow, she would have to lure her captors in there with the promise of more alcohol. They'd get together and drink like they did ever weekend. Everything would have to go right. No timing could be off, and she would have to be standing in just the right place to make it out alive. She turned over, looking to the window, which was letting moonlight stream into the room. Closing her eyes, Alice pictured the same thing back in Baker Street, where Sherlock would be next to her, bathed in moonlight, lazily reaching out to put an arm around her or grab her hand in his sleep. _Just a few days. Just a few more days, and you'll be back. You can see him again._

The sun rose early in London, but Sherlock didn't rise until noon, when he stumbled out of bed and into the shower, then downstairs to take the laundry into the laundry room. He had been inspired to shave, to clean the flat, and to head down to see Mycroft the night before, when he had resolved that Alice was still alive, and that there was something Mycroft could do. At the very least, they could fine-tune the images he had found much better than a standard laptop could.

He had never been to Iraq, but he had dreamed of Samarra, of the marketplace, and of the merchant. _He had been running, and had finally stopped at the last tent he could reach, where a figure in a hooded robe stood, holding a scythe. He could feel how cold it was, how empty. It reached out for him, but he took a step back, trying to get a look at the figure. Slowly, it reached up and lowered its hood, revealing the face of the woman he knew so well. Although the Death version of Alice was paler and more sickly than she was in real life, there was no way it could have been anyone but her. He reached out for her, taking her freezing-cold hand in his own. As she pulled him into a kiss, he felt incredibly weak, like he was about to fall, like he was getting sick. Like the life was being drained out of him. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I told you I was in Samarra."_

Sherlock had woken up with a start, but he was somewhat glad that it had only been an odd dream about Samarra, and not a real-life flashback to Serbia or Sherrinford. Those were a lot more disturbing. Sometimes the scars would still burn when he woke up from a dream about some of the most terrible places he had ever been. Alice had always seemed to know what to do, even when he had woken her up shouting in his sleep. She would immediately ask if she could take his hand or grab his arm, grounding him back in (his current) reality before asking what was wrong. She'd rub the scars that still burned so harshly, saying how well they were healing and how brave he was to go through all of that, and how glad she was to have him back. She would listen, even if it was the same dream he had been having for days. No matter what, she would be able to calm him down. She would always sit up with him until he fell asleep again, holding him close and running a hand through his hair. If she was exhausted from work, she might fall asleep first, but she tried her best to stay awake until she was sure he was peacefully asleep.

Mycroft was largely unhelpful, but he assented to sending an MI6 intern to fish through some of the footage that Sherlock had brought in. They wouldn't deploy any agents yet, he said, but if they found conclusive proof that she was being held captive there, a team would be on the way. Like he usually did, Mycroft annoyed his brother, not believing that Alice was still alive and saying that, "It's another one of your preposterous fantasies that deflect away from the cruel reality of your wife being dead." Sherlock, of course, did not agree.

Alice woke up in the middle of the day, since she had nothing much to do as she hid out in Samarra. She would visit the marketplace like she did every day, stopping for lunch - well, if you could call a mid-afternoon meal "lunch" - and wandering around, saying hello to everyone. Ibrahim gave her good news, relaying that everything was in order and what she requested would be waiting for her that evening. It was a small relief, even though the hardest part of her journey still lay ahead.

That evening, she invited the four guards into her room, luring them in with the alcohol she had picked up from the market. It was new, foreign stuff, unlike anything they could usually get in the bazaar. Specialty ordered. She spent hours plying them with drinks while pretending to drink her own, pouring countless shots and mixing dozens of drinks before excusing herself and heading into the bathroom. She had already tucked the matches in her pocket. _God, I hope this works._ As she emerged, she made her way to the seat closest to the door. "Anyone want more?" One of the burly men handed his cup over, Alice turning around and dropping the improvised explosive into it. She turned back to them, saying, "I learned how to make this one in Greece. You might want to sit back, though, it involves a bit of fire. It really is a cool trick. I'm sorry it'll only work once, though." She handed the cup over, telling the man to hold it out in the middle of the circle so everyone could see. Luckily, he hadn't looked into the cup. She took a half step back, flicking a match towards the group. As the first bit of material began to smolder, she dove for the door, shoulder-rolling into the hall as the explosion engulfed the room.

Covered in ash, Alice ran for the stairs as a fire alarm started to blare. Soon enough, she was swept up in a tide of people leaving the hotel, complaining about having to leave their beds for what was probably just a drill. As a young boy pointed to the second-floor room that was engulfed in flames, she slipped out of the crowd and into the marketplace, where Ibrahim handed her a pile of documents and the keys to an old car, which he had parked behind his family's stall. She thanked him quickly, jumping into the car.

As she drove, she tucked her hair into a baseball cap, hoping that would be enough to keep any police from stopping her and harassing her for her license. Trying her best to square her jaw and her shoulders, she stepped on the gas, praying she could make it the couple of hours it would take to get to the airport in Baghdad. It was a nerve-wracking drive, with every passing car making her nervous. The police or some of Moran's men could be anywhere, or she could run into trouble in other ways, what with all of the fighting going on.

Mercifully, she made it to the airport and was able to get a ticket, but had to wait nearly another hour to get on the plane. An airport, one of the most exposed public places. Sure, everyone went through security, but it would be easy for an experienced agent to smuggle in a weapon. She'd done it several times before. So she got up, walked around, pretended to look in the windows of the little shops, and tried to make sure no one was following her. Alice went into the women's room and changed into different clothes, throwing her old ash-covered ones in the trash. She brushed her hair out, pulling it back and sighing at the reflection in the mirror. _I look exhausted. You can sleep on the plane. No, you can't, what if someone followed you? Then you wouldn't be safe, even in England. Take the chance. You haven't slept well in a long time._

Sherlock was trying to sleep as Alice made her way to the airport. He had stayed awake looking into her case again, and had, on a whim, decided to track her phone again. It was in motion, making its way into the Baghdad airport. Could she be coming home? He had decided to check in the morning when the signal went dead. Either the phone had died, or she had gotten onto a plane. Either way, there was nothing he could do about it in London. So he resolved to go to sleep, which was easier said than done. All he could do was think about where she was and wonder what she was doing, if she had escaped her captors, and where she was going. He fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of nothing but hoping that Alice would be home soon.

When her flight boarded, Alice held her breath, hoping they would let her pass through with her papers. They were her real ones, not the fake travel documents Ibrahim had secured to get her into the city. She was waved through and allowed to take her seat, which she settled into in relief.

The plane ride was filled with tension, Alice watching everyone for any sign that they were watching her. No one seemed suspicious, but she couldn't take a chance. Even though the flight would take eleven hours, it would arrive eight hours later than it had left, crossing time zones and throwing everyone off. Nevertheless, Alice refused to sleep, instead accepting every cup of coffee the flight attendants offered.

She started to cry when they reached British airspace, and dried her tears with a napkin as they began the slow, circular descent over London. Utterly exhausted, she was ready to get off of the plane and stretch her legs in her newfound freedom.


	52. Chapter 52

Alice arrived in England early in the morning, exhausted. She hadn't slept at all during the flight, constantly afraid that someone would be after her. She was only sure that she hadn't been followed when she had disembarked, caught a cab, and found somewhere to stay. It took a while to get there, since she had some errands to run and wanted to shake off anyone tailing her.

There was no way she could go back to Baker Street, not yet. But she went anyway, just to look in the windows and hope that Sherlock was doing alright. It was a calculated risk, knowing that one of them could easily walk outside at any second, that Mr. Chatterjee could stop and say hello to her, or that a client would recognize her on the street. But she went anyway.

From Baker Street, Alice went across town to grab some groceries, and then to one of the many safe houses that had been set up years before. This one wasn't terrible, but it was no hotel room either. She had just set up a sleeping bag in the small facade house when a train went by, shaking its foundations. That was the one thing about the Leinster Gardens hideout - there was no missing the trains. But it was fairly close to Baker Street, and fairly close to Moran, who she would be hunting down that evening. It was a perfect hiding place, except for the trains. But she had dealt with much, much worse in the past, when she had been working for Moriarty. She and her fellow agents had made campsites in the jungles of South and Central America, holed up with ten people to a room in old, crumbling hotels in North Africa, and camped on the moors of rural England. They'd slept through gunfire, sandstorms, and more bugs than they could count. Leinster Gardens was paradise compared to some of the places that she had stayed with the team.

Sherlock hated waiting. It would always annoy him when it was the enemy's turn to make a move, and waiting for Alice to make a reappearance was no different. He hated being told to wait. So he had cleaned up the flat, started running a new experiment, and had picked Rosie up from Mrs. Hudson. They'd taken Chester for a walk and watched the ducks down at the park, and were sitting on the living room floor, building a very elaborate fort out of chairs and cushions when John got home from work. He smiled, looking to where Rosie was stacking pillows in the fort. "Afternoon, Your Majesty," he nodded to his daughter. "You look like you've been productive, Sherlock."

"Alice has been on the move. She's alive, and she's coming back," he told John. "She's in London now, waiting for the right moment to come back, I can tell. She's got business to take care of with Moran. Only a few days, I'm sure."

"You're sure?" John asked, scooping Rosie up in his arms. He tried not to say too much in front of her, since she had already been asking questions about where Aunt Alice was and why she was gone for so long. The hadn't told her that Alice had died, but their explanations were wearing thin.

Sherlock nodded. "She'll be back. I have to believe it."

"Is Auntie Alice coming home?" the two-year old was incredibly well-spoken, probably because she spent much of her time with Molly, John, Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock.

"Yes," Sherlock told her, adjusting the crown on her head. "She will be."

"Soon?"

"I hope." Sherlock turned away for a moment, ostensibly to pick up a few things that Rosie had left on the table, but in reality, he didn't feel like making eye contact with John, who had squared his jaw and sighed, thinking that it was an incredibly long shot and that they shouldn't be resting on the hope that she was still alive. There was a chance, but most likely, someone was trying to dupe the great detective. And because of his attachment to her, they were winning.

Sebastian Moran was not exactly surprised when Alice showed up at his house. Admittedly, he was almost pleased. He knew that there was no way he could have kept her in exile for long. She was always one of the strongest, smartest agents. She would have figured out a way to get back to England no matter where he sent her. So when he found her sitting on his sofa, having a glass of wine and a snack, he poured himself one and sat down across from her. "Nicely done with the improvised bomb."

"Thanks," she smiled. "It was getting boring, and I had an idea. So I came back to tell you."

"Go on, then."

"He's already ruined, right? Now's when we lead him out and kill him. Make it look like a suicide in a foolproof way. Seb, we'll do it together. What Jim never could. We're going to kill Sherlock Holmes."

Moran thought this over, swirling the wine in his glass, a 1960 Burgundy that cost over 500 Pounds per bottle. He'd picked it up from a French ambassador who he had been helping. Some papers crucial to his impending indictment disappeared, and a crate of the rare wine had arrived on Moran's doorstep the next day. "Very well. How are you going to do it?"

Alice smiled malevolently. "The last time he 'died', he jumped off of a roof. That means if he were to do it again, wouldn't he pick a tall place? Combined with a dislike for deep water, and we've got one of the most public places in London. Conveniently located, ready-made for a murder. And it'll be hard to find the body."

"And in the meantime?"

"I'm hiding out somewhere."

"You're more than welcome to stay here."

"I'll move in tomorrow night, then. I've already got everything set up to camp out, and I'm not about to go back there and then turn right back around and haul everything tonight. I'm going to go sleep off some jet lag," she told him. Of course, this was nothing near what she would actually be doing.

Sherlock was sitting up in his room, reading a book about tensile strength of different fibers and how they varied in fires, when he heard a noise. Something was at the window. He stood, looking out curiously as the window opened and a mass of red hair started climbing through it. Alice jumped into the room, landing on her feet. As she brushed her hair out of her face, she smiled, saying, "It's a bit cheesy, but I guess I'm breaking in to see you."

Sherlock just stared as she set her bag down. "I was right…"

"Yep. Long story short, not dead," she shrugged.

Sherlock said nothing, striding over and hugging her tightly. "I knew it. I knew it all didn't add up." Alice reached up and kissed him. "I've missed this."

"I've missed you," she replied, burying her face in his shoulder. "I've been out of the country for a bit."

"Samarra? Judging by the sand that's still embedded in your shoes and the strange pattern of sunburns you have. And I assume the rest of the group you were with unfortunately couldn't make it back to England."

"Samarra. But I was the one who was following Moran's people there. Needless to say, you're right. They didn't leave the city with me." She let him go, promising, "I'll tell you everything, but I need a real shower and something to eat. Have you got any leftovers or something?"

"Of course. I'll make tea too."

"Sherlock," Alice caught him before he walked into the kitchen, "try to be quiet. I wouldn't want to wake Rosie up, and I don't think the middle of the night is a good time to tell John or Mrs. Hudson that I'm alive."

Nice and clean, Alice sat on the bed, drinking a cup of tea and eating the leftover Chinese food Sherlock had reheated while she was in the shower. Sherlock sat across from her, since he wouldn't let go of her hand. "I'm going to have to go back to the safe house and pick things up tomorrow, and from there, I'm going to stay with Moran. I'll sneak out to see you every night, if I can. But he's got to trust me, if we want to get to him. First, though, he wants you dead. We can pull it off and then take care of him. He won't suspect you if he thinks you're dead."

"What is he planning?"

"You're not supposed to know I'm alive right now, you see. But he's going to have me lure you out and finish you off. It's the perfect test of loyalty for me and the perfect chance for him to see you dead." Alice outlined the plan she and Moran had come up with, and then detailed how they could pull it off without really killing him. "We're going to need some of the Homeless Network's help, and you're going to have to be careful when we do this. But if you can make it off of a building, you can do this. If we really have to, we can use Mycroft's help too, but I think we can pull it off without him."

Sherlock nodded, noticing how her hair curled a bit as it dried. He had been paying attention, yes, but it was so much more important that she was back, at least in the moment. Faking another death wouldn't be too difficult, so thinking about it could be put off for another time. He reached over, setting their dishes on the bedside table before pulling Alice into his arms. They fell down onto the bed together, Sherlock refusing to let her go. "Please don't ever… leave like that again."

Running a hand up his left arm, she felt the crook of his elbow, confirming her suspicions. Fresh wound. Add that to the needle she'd found in the bathroom trash and… "Babe, while I was gone, did you-"

"Yes," he admitted, burying his face in her hair. It smelled fresh and kind of like strawberries, like he always remembered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I couldn't take it, and I know I shouldn't have, but I had to. I thought you were dead, and I couldn't work. After you had died, I lost all of my motivation… the cases didn't seem to matter any more. They were interesting, sure, but they were only momentary distractions from the pain, from trying to find you, from believing that you were out there somewhere. I had to do something to stop all of the noise." He cleared his throat, saying, "I'm sorry. I really shouldn't bother you with-"

"No, it's okay. Let them think whatever they want about you. I'm here, and if you want to talk about it, you can. I'll listen," she promised, running a hand through his hair. "If you don't want to, that's okay too. But I'm here, no matter what."

"Not now," Sherlock told her, reaching over to turn out the lights. "I just want to hold onto you for now." After a moment, he added, "Tell me if you're ever going to fake your death again, alright? I don't care if I'm not supposed to know. You know I can act in front of people. I just don't want to have to think you're actually gone, not when I'm lying here at night. It's not pretty."

"Okay," she promised. "Same to you."

"Deal," Sherlock smiled, giving her a kiss. "Deal."

* * *

A.N.: Aww, how sweet. Too bad things won't stay nice and lovely for the Baker Street gang. As always, thanks for all of your reviews! They're wonderful and I appreciate the feedback so much.


	53. Chapter 53

Alice moved into Moran's house the next day, arriving with all of her things during the lunch rush hour, when everyone was on the road and no one notice who was going by. Moran showed her to an upstairs bedroom, saying that he was sorry for all of the extra furniture crammed in there, but it would be good enough for now while he was having renovations done. She thanked him graciously, unpacking everything and joining Moran downstairs for some tea and a snack. "I'm sure I'll sleep much better here. The trains kept me up half of the night."

"It's not a problem," Moran assured her, leaning on the island in the center of his kitchen. It had just been remodeled, Alice observed. He'd come into a lot of money lately. That's why he wasn't asking for rent, even when he thought she would be staying there long-term. "The shower's just been redone, so the water pressure should be much better than it was when you stayed here a few years ago. I had to shove all of the furniture from the study into your bedroom, but we can move it back in a few days. The contractors are almost finished."

"That's fine," Alice smiled. "I'll be okay even with all of it there. Besides, you've got boxes of books in there. I'll probably get through a decent amount of them before you move them back."

It had been almost two weeks since she left Baker Street when Alice came downstairs to find people cleaning and readying the main rooms of the house for a party. Moran was walking around with a glass of whiskey, making sure everyone was doing their jobs. "Ah, there you are. We're having a meeting here tonight with some interesting personalities. We'll be having dinner, and you're welcome to join us." Moran poured himself more tea, adding, "It'll all be cooked for us. I'm bringing in a chef, so you'll have to stay out of the kitchen, but there's nothing to worry about."

"How formal of a dinner?" Alice asked, wondering who could be there. She would see soon enough.

"Fairly formal. Wear something nice," he suggested. "We don't have to impress these people too much, but I do have a reputation to maintain. They've heard all about you, of course. You're our famous assassin. They know some of the stories, or at least what's been leaked out into the criminal classes. I'm sure they would be delighted to meet you."

"Criminal dinner, then? I haven't been to one of those in forever. I remember when we used to have them every Friday night, back when I was in school and Jim was running things all over town, when we were just branching out," she smiled, trying to remember the last time they had all dined together. "Are any of the old ones still around?"

"A few of them, but most of our old friends haven't made it this far. Not everyone in our line of work reaches retirement age," Moran told her, trying to think of their old friends. "Not many of them made it out of the ruins of Jim's network and into mine, but I used them to build it up again. We're going to take England back again, and there's no way Sherlock Holmes is going to ruin it, eh?"

"Of course not," Alice nodded. She set her teacup in the sink, adding, "I've got to be off and unpack, then I'm going to run to the store before I have to get ready for the dinner. Our guests will be here around six, like always, right?"

"They will. Wear something nice."

All of the furniture had been moved out of her room, since the remodeling had been finished. She'd been left with a bed, a dresser, and a desk, and it was nice to have the extra space. But there had been so many people going in and out of the room in the past couple of days that she didn't trust it any more. So as soon as they had moved the last of the storage bins out, Alice had holed herself up in her room, reorganizing her things and checking for bugs. There were no hidden cameras or microphones that she could find, but that didn't mean Moran wasn't monitoring her. She made a quick trip down to the supermarket to pick up a few essentials, but was soon back in Moran's house. Humming along with the radio, she noticed that there were more people arriving downstairs. Peeking out of the window, Alice was surprised to see the chefs arriving so early, but she thought nothing of it. Not until she saw someone very familiar carrying boxes of food in through the kitchen door.

Billy was more dressed up than she had seen him in a while, but she could still recognize him, no matter the disguise. "Chemist, leader of the network, and a chef? Impressive." She had seemed to materialize in the alleyway, leaning against the van that he had arrived in.

"Mrs. Holmes? Alice! You're alive!" He set down the box he had been carrying to give her a hug. "How?"

"Faked my death. I took a leaf out of your own book. But I'm back now. I'm probably why Sherlock sent you here," she reasoned, following him inside as they finished unloading the van. "That is why you're here, right? To spy on the dinner?"

"Someone has to do it," Bill nodded as he and the other chef began preparing for dinner. Alice made herself a cup of coffee, perching on a stool in the corner, out of their way. "Our friend wanted eyes and ears on the inside. This thing has been in the works for months, starting way back before you disappeared."

"I know. He'll have both of us reporting in tonight," Alice said, watching as they chopped up vegetables with incredible speed.

"I'm sorry, this is Rob. He's also with the network," Billy told her, the other chef nodding as he grabbed another onion from a pile beside him. "Rob, this is Mrs. Holmes."

"The Mrs. Holmes?" He stopped, setting the knife down and staring at her in amazement. "You were dead."

"The operative word there was 'were'," Alice laughed, taking a sip of her drink. "I've been doing some work that required me to disappear. For a bit, but I'm back in London now, even if it is here instead of back at Baker Street. It's a long story, one Sherlock can tell you instead of me. But basically, I'm masquerading here as an agent of Moran's new network, the one he took over from Moriarty."

"Well it's good to have you back. It'll certainly cheer Sherlock up," Rob thought aloud. "Bill, pass me the peppers, will you?"

"Ah, Alice, there you are." Moran greeted them all, walking into the kitchen to see how things were going. "We're all set for dinner at seven, aren't we? Running on schedule?"

"Yes, Sir," Billy nodded confidently. "We'll have dinner ready to serve by then, and dessert will be ready soon after. There's no one been added to the guest list, correct?"

"No, no other guests. We're still running on the same numbers as I told you in my last email." As he strode over to the countertop to see what they were working on, Moran reminded them that, "Discretion is key, gentlemen. None of the names you hear tonight are to be mentioned to anyone, alright? That's where your bonuses will come in."

"They seem like fine young men. I don't think you'll have to worry much about that, Seb," Alice told him. "And you know I've always been able to spot liars."

"Very good. Now, as for you, you're going to have to start getting ready soon, aren't you? The first few guests will be arriving in," he paused, checking his watch, "a little over half an hour. I guess I should run upstairs and change into something more formal too, huh?"

"Really?" Alice stood, taking her coffee cup with her. "I forgot to check the time. Well, it's been nice to talk to you, gentlemen. I trust you'll have something delicious for us."

"Not to worry, ma'am," Rob assured her, "you and your guests will be impressed."

Upstairs, Alice texted Sherlock, getting ready for the party as she talked to him. They used to have criminal dinners all of the time, where the top people in Moriarty's network would get together to eat, drink, and discuss business. Their dinners used to be the highlight of the month, and once or twice a year, they would host galas like the Mafia would throw. Moriarty would rent a mansion and invite anyone and everyone. Invariably, one or two people would die. Bringing together that many criminals was always a risk, but it was worth it. She'd let Sherlock know that if there was any information he needed from anyone, now was the time to get it, when they could be easily persuaded to drink more and talk all they wanted. He'd wished her good luck, and Alice was headed down the stairs as the first couple of guests showed up.

By the time dinner was served, Alice was surrounded by the biggest names in the London underworld. She was sitting next to the man who controlled 87% of the heroin trade. There were mob bosses from every Mafia she could think of, arms dealers she'd worked with before, and the leaders of the art forgery and money laundering world. It was amazing, seeing them all coming together like they had for years. Several of them were people she had known for over a decade, but as always, there were one or two new faces. In their line of work, new people always popped up, whether they be the mentees of the others or their replacements after sudden arrests, deaths, or mysterious accidents. Moran floated above them all, making introductions, asking about people's kids, checking in on projects, and altogether being the dutiful host.

As their "chefs" brought out salads and soup, Moran made the first of many toasts that nights, to "Our old friend, come back to us from the other side. To Alice, to her work, and to what she means for us!"

"Congratulations on your spectacular return," smiled one of the women who sat across from her - an art forgery master who had sold paintings across the world for millions, all while creating the fakes in a one-bedroom flat in the middle of London.

"Thank you," Alice smiled graciously, nodding to Billy as he came back into the room to see if anyone wanted more wine. He nodded back, turning to speak to Moran about what they wanted brought up from the cellar next.

"You know," the woman continued, "I'm going to need help bringing my next shipment of fake marble in from Italy. I need someone to ensure there's a bad inspector there at the port when it gets in."

"I think I could pull a few strings," Alice nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "Yes, that could definitely be arranged."

By the time everyone had left, it was well into the night. Moran paid their "chefs" and bade Alice goodnight, shedding his dinner jacket as he made his way to his room, half-drunk and half-awake. She made a motion to follow him upstairs, but nodded goodnight, saying she was going to make a cup of tea before bed. She perched on a stool in the kitchen as Rob and Billy packed up their instruments and the leftovers, which would be distributed to the Homeless Network. "I'm going to be stopping at Baker Street tomorrow," Billy told her. "Want me to get you anything?"

"That's okay. I'm going to head over and tell Sherlock everything, warn him to have someone waiting in the port Ms. D'Angelo is bringing a shipment of marble in, all of that," she said, helping to wrap up paper plates filled with food.

"Be careful."

"Moran's probably already crashed out onto his bed. He'll get up late tomorrow, wonder why he went to bed in the clothes he wore to dinner, jump into the shower, shave, and be up and about around lunchtime. Don't worry, I know how he lives."

"Want us to give you a ride, then?"

Alice smiled, thanking them. "That would be great. I'll be back down in a few." She ran upstairs, changing out of her formal wear and grabbing a few things, meeting Rob and Billy just as they finished packing up the truck. They were on the road soon, driving right up to the Baker Street flat. As Alice hopped out, she thanked them both again, saying that, "I owe you two. Thank you so much."

As they drove away, she crept into the building, up the stairs, and over to 221B. Light spilled out from underneath the door. Someone was still awake. In one bedroom, she knew, Rosie was already asleep. She'd grown a lot, from what John had posted on social media. Alice would always like the posts, but she usually felt that pang of regret, of longing for the loss of something she had never really had. Sherlock was up, playing a song on his violin. It was an old one, one she had heard for years. Chopin, maybe. John might be up reading, like he usually did nowadays. He would stay up late into the night, reading something from the Baker Street shelves or from the closest library. He'd wanted to write a book about their adventures. Maybe he was finally getting around to it.

She tapped on the door, and the music stopped abruptly. "Client?" John asked. "It's nearly 2 AM. It must be serious."

"No," Sherlock told him simply, crossing the room in a couple of strides. "Alice. That's how she's always knocked." She could hear him at the door, unlocking the deadbolt. The door swung open, bathing the hall in firelight. Wordlessly, he pulled her into his arms with gusto, Alice wrapping her arms around him. He kissed the top of her head, smiling. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too."

As she stepped into the room to greet John, she saw that Rosie was sleeping in a playpen that had been filled with stuffed animals. _That's odd. Why didn't one of them carry her to her room?_ John gave her a strong hug, saying, "There's so much we have to tell you."

* * *

A.N.: So I have a ton of chapters written up, and I hate to say it, but I've written all the way to the end. So I'm going to try to edit and post one a day until I'm done. A bit ambitious, maybe, but I'll try my best.


	54. Chapter 54

"What do you mean?" Suddenly, she knew something was wrong. Every hope she had for this visit dissolved instantly when Sherlock and John exchanged a look. "Sherlock?" She took his hand, asking what was happening.

Sherlock sighed, explaining, "John and Rosie have moved into your old flat. They deserve their own space, and we need the room here now. We have someone else living in their old room."

"We have a guest? Please tell me your parents aren't staying here indefinitely," she sighed, thinking of how they would show up, take over the flat, and change the entire pace of life for everyone there. "I know they were talking about moving closer, but I always figured they would end up with Mycroft."

"It's not them. You remember Archie, right?" John asked, taking a seat as she and Sherlock took over the sofa.

"Yes." Archie had visited often, looking over cases with Sherlock and Alice. She would always make them snacks, smiling at the sight of him and Sherlock poring over files like they were old friends. She had pictured Charlie growing up like Archie, reading over cases with Sherlock and begging to go to crime scenes, despite Alice protesting.

John was the one to start to introduce what had happened. Of course it was him - he was always better with those kinds of things. Sherlock would never handle things like this if he could find a way out of it. "You know it was just him and his mum."

"Yes. Did something happen to her?"

Sherlock took over, saying, "We aren't too sure. She disappeared three - four - days ago now. I think Moran has something to do with it. He's going to slowly try to get me to act, the get me to do something. Archie's staying here for now, while we figure out what happened."

"He came over after school. She hadn't come home for hours, and this… well, Baker Street is where you go when someone goes missing. It's all he knew," John added, standing to get them all something to drink. "I'll be right back."

As John left the room, Alice turned to Sherlock, who had wrapped an arm around her. "She's dead, isn't she?"

He nodded. "Scotland Yard hasn't found a body yet, but I would bet that she is. They'll find it soon enough. Moran isn't the type to keep hostages. He'll be moving on to someone else next, especially now that he has you working with him. He's going to try to get you to do it."

"What's going to happen to him?" she wondered aloud, looking to Sherlock for a simple answer.

"Well," the detective sighed, "that's really what we have to talk about. The only other person he could live with is his dad, but he left when Archie was a kid. I've looked into him. He's a known gang member and hasn't had a steady job in six years. He lives in a trailer outside of Brighton, where he's recently taken up working in a resort, cleaning and doing gardening work. He's been there for a month or so. That's the most work he's had in a while."

Suddenly, Alice realized that John had been gone for a rather long time. He was surely gone for a reason - he and Sherlock had prepared for this conversation before she got there. There was going to be a question, something John was listening in on. "Then what are you proposing? That he stay here?"

Sherlock sighed, shaking his head. "Not exactly. When the body turns up, or after a suitably long time, the government is going to want to ship him off to his father, even if he lives here in the meantime. We would have to er, do something official."

"Are you proposing we adopt him if she turns up dead?" Alice reasoned. Sherlock shrugged a 'yeah'. "Okay. This might not be the best place for him to live - I mean, we've got clients all over the place, death threats being mailed to us, and we've got some of the most weird hours you can imagine, but I guess we could. We'll rearrange things a bit, and I'm sure we could give him a fairly normal life. Or at least one with a steady parental presence."

John came back into the room a few minutes later, apologizing because "the stove wasn't on, and I hadn't noticed for a while. Started to think the kettle had broken. Sorry that took so long." Alice nodded, sipping her tea and ignoring the small glance that Sherlock gave him. She would let them think they had pulled off their little plan.

John went to bed a little while later, Alice turning to Sherlock after he had gone and simply telling him, "Now that he's out of the room, we need to talk."

He blinked, thinking of a million things at once. _What have you done? Or what have you not done? Birthday? No, that's in October. Anniversary? No, that one's in March. Groceries? Walking the dog? Er…_ "About?" he finally managed to ask. "I thought we already did our talking."

"I have to kill you," Alice said bluntly, shifting on the sofa to face him. "Moran's going to make me do it sooner or later, and I think we need to figure it out sooner rather than later. I need to know what to propose to him. That way I can make sure you'll be okay, and you can drop off the map for a while. I can take care of him, and then we can get rid of the rest of the network to make sure no one tries to take his place."

"It has to be something out in the open or something where I can be knocked out and mistaken for dead," Sherlock thought aloud. _Good. She isn't mad. I haven't forgotten anything._ "Mycroft can help get us what we need, and we have the Homeless Network to help pull off the rest. Just like before."

Alice took a sip of her drink, thinking. "We can use what we have around us… and it'll have to be somewhere with CCTV cameras, so Moran can see it happen. I know he'll let me do it, but I also know he won't trust me to kill you unsupervised."

They worked out a plan, making lists of what they would need and who to contact, and picked the perfect spot to do it. Sherlock had texted some members of the Homeless Network, telling them that they would have to be on call. Alice notified Mycroft, who knew only some of the details, having an animated phone conversation with him. He was onboard with the plan, saying that Moran had been more trouble than it was worth keeping him around, and this would save him from having to put together a government task force with more legal measures to get him. If he was mysteriously found dead, it would be much easier on them all. They could fake all the autopsy reports and clean everything up, no problem. It would just be easier of Alice took care of him. By the time they had finished organizing everything, it was about time for Alice to head back to Moran's. She hugged her husband goodbye, Sherlock following her down the stairs.

"I'll let you know as soon as he tells me anything else, okay?" Alice gave him a kiss, Sherlock promising to await the message eagerly.

"I need a new challenge. Faking my death is always fun," he grinned, jumping up and looking at his evidence wall. "Let's see what we can do about it."

Alice made it back to Moran's home in time to get a bit of sleep, hop in the shower, and be out for brunch at a reasonable time. Moran came downstairs soon after she had started reheating leftovers, yawning and saying hello. "We've got to do something about that Mr. Holmes of yours," he said, turning the coffee machine on. "I got a call last night. Scotland Yard took down another one of my men. Arrested him in front of a restaraunt, or so I'm told. Sherlock Holmes led them to him."

"I've been thinking about that, actually," Alice told him, leaning against the kitchen counter. She chose her next few words carefully. "I want to kill him. He needs to be taken care of, and I think I need to be the one to do it."

"Go on," Moran nodded, searching for a clean coffee mug.

"I think he'd trust me the most, out of all of us. He still thinks I'm dead, right? Well, I get back into contact with him, convince him I'm alive, and then agree to meet him somewhere. Then he gets taken care of, but this time I ensure it," she explained. "No more surviving. We make sure we have a body this time. He fooled us once, but he won't fool us again."

"And you already have an idea how you want to do it?" He reached for the coffee pot, Alice explaining as he poured himself a cup.

"Somewhat. I want to know what you think about it, though. Feel free to tell me it's impractical." She laid out the bare bones of a plan, but let Moran put everything together. She let him think that he had come up with the details, but she led him right to them. In the end, he had pieced together a plan very similar to the one she and Sherlock had made the night before. But of course, Moran had to think that he was the mastermind and that there was no way his plan could backfire. Alice would need to alter a few things, but she was confident enough that she could take care of them without Moran finding out.

When she was able to slip away for a moment, she texted Sherlock, letting him know what Moran was planning and the few details that he had added to the plan.

 _Your execution is scheduled for next Thursday. Love you. - A_


	55. Chapter 55

Alice and Moran had been working for days getting everything together, getting Sherlock to be in a certain place at a certain time, and getting the weapons they would need. They were either holed up in an office making phone calls or video calling people all day or out on the streets, buying weapons, hacking CCTV cameras, and making sure they had picked the right spot to orchestrate Sherlock's death. At night, Alice would show up at Baker Street, getting things organized on the other side. She and Sherlock held meetings with members of the Homeless Network, who would be making sure everything went off without a hitch. They rehearsed everything, just to be sure neither of them would mess up. Needless to say, Alice barely slept, but she got everything done.

Every evening, she would wait an hour after Moran went to bed before sneaking out her second-story window, making her way to Baker Street. She was sure to be back by the early morning, so she could sneak back in and get a few precious hours of sleep before she would have to be up and working with Moran again. Every day blended together, and soon enough, they had arrived at the day Sherlock was going to die.

The entire day seemed like it was waiting for something. Alice got up late, having orchestrated the final details with Sherlock the night before. She'd been out until early in the morning, and had been walking around London with him, finally wishing him a "goodnight. And good luck tomorrow. I love you. So much. Remember that for me."

Moran had let her sleep, since she wasn't going to be in on much of it until the very end. She would carry things out, and that was pretty much it. All of the broadcasting, the blackmail, and the footage was left up to others in Moran's network. All afternoon, she walked through the house restlessly. She tried to nap, but just ended up tossing and turning in bed, not being able to fall asleep. Alice eventually went out to the supermarket, picking up groceries because she could do nothing else. She just couldn't seem to sit still. Everything had to be pulled off flawlessly on all sides for this to work. Even a tiny fault in Moran's plan could ruin everything.

She had arranged to meet Sherlock around 11 o'clock at night up on the Westminster Bridge, which was a perfect location for Moran to hack into the CCTV cameras. Unbeknownst to him, Sherlock and the Homeless Network had been casing the area for days, working tirelessly to make sure everything would be in place well before Moran took control of the CCTV system. There would be no way to trace them there, and he would never notice a few people wandering around like vagrants. It was perfect. Now all they had to do was pull off another death.

Alice was more nervous than she had been when she had to fake her own death. All she had to do then was disappear and give some of her things to Moran, who would arrange for the corpse to be dressed in them and planted where they wanted it. She was home watching TV before her death made the news. Now it was up to her to make sure that nothing went wrong. Because if it did, she really would be the one who killed Sherlock Holmes. So she paced the house, barely ate dinner, and could do nothing to help Moran, which made her even more restless. He was holed up in his office making last-minute phone calls to be sure that everything was in place. He'd called in a technician to hack the cameras on the bridge earlier in the day. Her name was Alicia, and she was pretty nice, but she was busy in the office that Moran had set up for her. Alice didn't even have Chester to keep her company.

Finally, she was given the okay to go get ready, Moran telling her that a car would be waiting when she came downstairs. Putting her makeup on with one hand, Alice texted Sherlock, telling him that she would be on the way soon. _Don't forget anything. You have to be exactly on the spot they marked when this all goes down. Oh God, Sherlock, I can't do this. What if I fuck up? I love you. I'm sorry in advance, even if everything goes right. I'm so sorry. I love you. I'll see you soon._

The ride to the bridge was relatively short, but Alice was still nervous, tapping her feet along with the song on the radio. The driver let her out and she thanked him, checking her watch as he sped off. He would be back as soon as they saw Sherlock die, ready to whisk her away in case any uncontrolled-for passersby happened to be in the area. She stepped into the shadows, waiting for Sherlock, playing her lines over again in her head. They had rehearsed this a thousand times back at Baker Street, but she still went over them, trying not to mess up.

As the clock struck 11, Sherlock stepped out of a cab a few meters away. He paid the driver before turning to the sidewalk, looking around for her. Look left. Look right. Look behind you. Step forward. Alice stepped out of the shadows, coming up to him as he turned to look at the sudden motion. "Hey," she smiled, taking a spot next to him and looking out over the water. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Especially from up here. All of the lights reflecting off of the water."

"You were dead," he began, reciting his lines for the cameras. Moran was watching, after all. As was Big Brother. Mycroft had people stationed everywhere, ready to move in if something went wrong on either end. "I saw you. I… I held you, covered in blood."

"Well, we can't all die that easily, now can we?" she smirked, looking at the detective. "You of all people could understand why I had to do it. I can't… I can't do this anymore, Sherlock. All of the crap you pull me into, I just can't. I lost my son because of you. I lost everything I had, everything I'd worked for, because I had to go and fall… fall in love with you." So much went unsaid in these lines, so much that she had wanted to say every time they practiced them in the Baker Street living room. But now wasn't the time. "All I ever wanted was a normal life. With you. And Charlie. And John, and Rosie, and Mrs. Hudson. But we both know that can never happen."

"What are you saying?" He raised an eyebrow, playing up the whole zero-emotional-intelligence thing.

She drew the gun from her coat pocket, twirling it in her hand. There was a split second of panic, Alice wondering if she had really loaded it with blanks. _Of course you did. You did it this morning and you've checked a dozen times since then._ "I'm saying that I can't live with you. I'm saying that no one really can. You're an ignorant arse who drags everyone down into your shit, and I'm sick of it. You killed our son. You killed John's wife. You've ruined so much, ruined so many people's lives, and this has to stop." She leaned in to kiss him, whispering, "I love you" before taking a step back. "I'm sorry, but no one can do this anymore. I'm just the one who's said it."

"Alice, you know you don't have to do this. Whatever he's brainwashed you with -"

"He hasn't brainwashed me, Sherlock. Seb's always been there for me, unlike you. He never ran out in the middle of the night on a case, telling me he'd be back later. Never left me wondering if he really would come back. He's never missed a restaurant reservation and made me wait an hour while he ran through London hunting some trivial clue down. He's always been a friend, and he's not brainwashing me. He's just showed me all of the shit I let you get away with."

He reached out for her, Alice taking another step back. "You married me. You have to feel something… you know killing me won't solve your problems. And you know you married me for a reason. Alice, you don't have to do this. I love you. And I know you're not a psychopath. I know you're a good person," he pled as she took the safety off of her gun.

"I know I'm not a psychopath… I'm a highly-functioning sociopath. Do your research. Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes," she spat, firing a blank into his chest.

He had been ready for it, but even so, he stumbled a little, Alice reaching out and shoving him over the bridge as he fell backwards. Her part was over. Now it was up to the Homeless Network, who would have a series of nets set up right below the bridge. They would catch him and release a dummy at the same time. From the grainy camera that sat by the bridge, Moran would never know the difference.

There was a definitive splash as her car rounded the corner. Something had fallen into the water. Now whether it was the detective or the dummy, she didn't know. She wouldn't know for a while, since there would be a radio silence order for a few hours. Sherlock couldn't contact her for a while, since Moran would want to congratulate her and talk over everything. And he would be watching her, of course.

The car arrived at Moran's house in record time, Alice getting out and numbly thanking the driver. She shed her coat, hanging it by the door before going into the office to meet Moran, who was rewatching the CCTV tapes. Alicia had left, her things cleared away. Alice took a set by his desk. "Hi, Seb."

"Good job. Flawless execution, like usual. It's good to have you back." He spun in his chair to face her, looking her over. "No signs of shock. No hand tremors. Good. Nothing's changed. I was worried that the years would have turned you soft, but you're as good as ever. Jim would have been proud."

"Thank you," she nodded as Moran poured them both a shot of whiskey. "And thanks again. Well deserved."

"Well deserved," he agreed. "Our technicians pulled everything off, and you were perfect. I'm glad. They should be finding a body in the next few days. All we have to do now is sit back and watch the press blow up."

Alice didn't go to bed until late that night. She and Moran had stayed up talking for a while, discussing old missions and the people they had spent years working with. Half of them had died, and another quarter were in prison. But that was normal in their line of work. All she could think about was Sherlock. She was waiting on a text from him, but her phone was up in her room, where she couldn't reach it. She had to try her best not to run up the stairs when she was finally able to go to bed, grabbing her phone to check for notifications.

There was a text from two minutes before, Alice sighing in relief as she dropped into bed to answer.

 _Made it. - SH_

 _Thank goodness. - A_

 _Quite the adventure. Tell you about it later? - SH_

 _I'm exhausted and Moran's still on high alert. Probably wouldn't be a great idea to head out right now. - A_

 _Okay. Tomorrow? - SH_

 _Tomorrow. - A_

 _I love you. - SH_

 _Love you too. Glad you're alive. - A_


	56. Chapter 56

Sherlock Holmes was reportedly found on the banks of the Thames with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the chest. The body was processed through Bart's Hospital, Molly Hooper conducting the autopsy. Scotland Yard found a note that had been written, saying he couldn't live without his wife, who had been murdered some weeks before. The reports said there were drugs in his system, enough for a fatal overdose even before he shot himself. There was a small service.

Sherlock Holmes rolled out of bed late in the morning, texting John that he would pick Rosie up from Mrs. Hudson once he had had something to eat. John texted back from his surgery, thanking him and reminding him that Chester needed to be walked and to pass the message on to Mrs. Hudson. Life continued like normal, except Sherlock would disguise himself whenever he went out. It was fun, becoming the butcher down the street or a tourist looking for a local eatery. He could wander into Scotland Yard as Anderson, or make his way to Downing Street as Mycroft, and no one would be any the wiser.

Alice was still working with Moran, who had stayed inside for a few days, watching the fallout of Sherlock's death. It had been on the news worldwide, and a large memorial service was being organized for the city, and the nation as a whole, to pay their respects. The government had made an official statement through Mycroft, who had written something up for the Prime Minister to say when addressing Parliament. She would visit Sherlock nearly every night, having dinner or watching a movie with him and Archie. John and Rosie would sometimes join them.

It was on one of these nights that Alice made it over just in time for Archie to go to bed. She bade him goodnight, going to sit with Sherlock, who had poured her a glass of wine and was busily working, looking something up on his laptop as she sat down. "I'm working on a case involving a stolen ring and a disappearing actor. 6 million Pounds on the line," he told her, not looking up from the maps that he was studying. John had wandered into the room, stopping by to say hello before heading back downstairs. He had just taken Chester out for a walk, and was dropping the dog off, since Sherlock couldn't leave the flat without a disguise.

When John's door had opened and closed again, Sherlock set his laptop aside. "Aren't you working?" Alice asked, looking away from the news programme that she had been watching.

The detective sighed, turning to her. "It's nearly solved, I just have to track down a step-brother in the Urals. No, I have a bigger problem."

"What is it?" She switched the television off, waiting for an answer.

"When are you coming home?"

"What do you mean?"

"When are you coming back to Baker Street? You've been gone for almost two months. John's moved back in downstairs, and hell, we've even got Archie. You're still gone, though. When are you coming back?"

"I honestly don't know. I mean, I could tell Moran that I'm getting my own flat. Or that I'm coming back here now that you've been bumped off, but he would want to bug the place. We've got to get rid of him. We could trap him here, but we would have to either get him arrested for something or kill him," she thought aloud. "Now everything we could arrest him for, I could be taken in on. That is, if I was still alive. But then if we kill him - Mycroft's given me permission to do it - well, we'd have to get him alone."

"Would you?"

"Would I kill him? I could," she nodded, Sherlock not replying. "I would do it, if I had the chance. I don't think it would be a problem."

The detective nodded, thinking for a moment. "Come here." She set her wineglass down, Sherlock pulling her into his arms. "I miss you." Alice was somewhat taken aback by this sudden display of emotion, but she shrugged it off. "Things aren't the same around here. It's not just everyone moving in. It's waking up and not seeing you there, and not having you working at the table across from me, and not making you dinner. Or making dinner with you. I don't see you at Scotland Yard, and I don't come home late at night to drop into bed beside you. Alice, I know we don't exactly have what could be called a 'normal' marriage, but I miss it."

"Me too," she said, holding onto him tightly. "I miss finding body parts in the kitchen, and trying to clear science experiments off of the table for dinner, even if I would give up and have dinner on the sofa half of the time. And I miss waking up next to you and being able to see you when I come home, even if it's late at night." She sighed, resolving, "I'm going to tell Moran that I'm moving out. I've gotten back on my feet, and now that the world thinks we're both dead, I can operate in the shadows. Something like that. Besides, he doesn't need me hanging out in the house all of the time."

Sherlock was thinking again, she could tell. He always had the same look when he was struggling with something. "Everything you said on the bridge," he began, "was any of it true? Do you regret your decisions?"

"No," Alice replied immediately, leaning forward to give him a kiss. "Of course I don't. You're… you saved my life, Sherlock. More times than I can count. You've given me so many adventures, and I'm incredibly thankful for you. I'd have probably been dead already if I hadn't met you. Seb and I were talking the other day, and we could only think of a few of the people we'd originally worked with who were still alive and out of jail. You've given me a real home and something to look forward to, instead of coming back to Chester and a quiet apartment."

"I don't bother you? WIth all of my… idiosyncrasies?"

"No. I mean, finding eyeballs in the microwave and blood all over the laundry room can get a bit annoying sometimes, but it's all part of you. And I love you, so I forgive you."

He switched subjects quickly, asking if she had been to Sherrinford lately. "I've been meaning to go visit my sister. Do you want to come along? You wouldn't have to talk to her. Mycroft's given you free access to the entire facility, so you can talk to whoever you want."

"I was there a few weeks ago interviewing Jamie, the cannibal. One of the cannibals, actually," she said, thinking back to her talk with the man. He'd said he wanted to skin me too. I was honored." Alice chuckled, adding, "I haven't seen Eurus lately, though. I'm sure she'd enjoy a visitor. When do you want to go?"

"Friday?"

"Friday," she agreed. "I'll move back in by then, and we can leave together, two people who are supposedly dead. That'll be fun. We don't exist, and we're going to an island that doesn't exist, to visit a woman who doesn't exist. I like it."

Moran was up when Alice got home. He stood, making his way to the kitchen door, which she had quietly opened and closed, creeping towards the stairs. "Hello there. Home a bit late, aren't we?"

"You sound like my father," she frowned, unbuttoning her coat.

"You never had a father."

"Well then," Alice scoffed, stepping up onto the stairs. "That's not very nice." She turned her back, getting halfway up the stairs before Moran stopped her.

He leaned on the wall by the stairs, crossing his arms. "Where have you been?"

"Out."

"That's not an answer. I need to know who you talked to, who you ran into. Just in case."

"I ran out to pick some things up. Nothing to worry about," Alice insisted. Moran raised an eyebrow. She sighed, clarifying, "Feminine things. I'm bleeding like a stuck pig, Seb. I figured you didn't need to - or want to - know that."

Satisfied, Moran simply said, "Let me know next time, okay? You're not a prisoner here, but if anyone sees you…"

"I'll be fine. Now if you let me head on to bed, I would be very grateful." Moran nodded, Alice heading off to her room. She dropped her purse on the bed, throwing her shoes in the closet without direction. Moran would be dead soon, and hopefully they would be back to chasing common criminals - forgers, blackmailers, and serial killers without a crime web to keep them going even after they were locked up. They would all be back in the Baker Street flat, and she would have Sherlock and Chester back. And Archie. They would be officially adopting Archie as soon as the war with Moran was over, and as soon as they were officially alive again.


	57. Chapter 57

_Poisoning, I think that's how I'll do it. Yes, just drop some into his drink, or put something in one of those cigars that he's taken to smoking on Friday nights._ Alice was quiet as she ate breakfast in the kitchen, nodding to Moran when he came to make coffee. _Or in that Columbian coffee that he likes so much. As long as I don't borrow any of it. Or I can just get him alone and shoot him. They'll suspect me anyway, no matter how he dies, even if it's while he's on vacation and I'm here. Oh, it would be useful if he died while he was off on business._

"I'm going on a trip next week," he told her, grabbing a box of cereal and a bowl from one of the cabinets. "I've got some business in Italy that I have to take care of. I was going to try to send in one of the others, but someone refuses to negotiate with anyone who isn't me. I wish it could be Columbia, though… goodness knows I could use a vacation somewhere other than Palermo."

"When are you leaving?" she asked, casually taking a sip of her tea.

"Wednesday. I'll be back on Sunday," he said between bites. "It's not a big trip, but I'll be gone for a few days. You're in charge while I'm gone, running everything here. I've got a couple of operations that need overseeing while I'm gone."

"Like what? All of the pickups and stuff like that? What about that Schmidt contract we have?"

"I'll email you all the files. And the Schmidt contract is going to take a bit longer than we thought, since he hasn't gotten me all of the paper work yet. So there's nothing for oyu to do with it. The rest of it should be pretty routine. Nothing too huge, but they'll need to be looked into, okay? Hey, do we have any more milk?"

 _He's going to be out of town. That's the perfect time. Now how?_ Alice texted Sherlock as soon as she was free, letting him know that Moran was going to be traveling and that they had a few days to put something together in Italy. Of course, Sherlock had a contact there, like he did in almost every country or region on the Continent.

 _He'll be taken care of, don't worry. - SH_

 _And your guy can make it look like an accident? Or at least shift the blame from us so we're not investigated? - A_

 _I'll talk to him. - SH_

 _When are you coming home? - SH_

 _As soon as Moran's out of the country. He caught me coming back last time, so I'll have to be careful until he's gone. It's just a few days. - A_

 _Fine. Archie's been asking after you. - SH_

 _Tell him I say hello. I'll try to video call you all tonight after everyone else has gone to bed. - A_

 _I love you. - SH_

 _I love you too. - A_

It was a very long couple of days until Moran packed up and had Alice drop him off at Heathrow, leaving her with instructions about how she was supposed to continue to monitor their enterprises while he was gone. She would need to email him her reports every day, and he would answer with more instructions and tell her if anything came up. As soon as he texted that the flight was taking off and he wouldn't be on the phone or the Internet for a bit, she went over to Baker Street. Rosie was taking a nap, Mrs. Hudson busy in the kitchen. "Sherlock, she's home!" she called as quietly as she could, setting down a saucepan.

Sherlock bounded out of their room, where he had been working, his safety goggles pushed up onto his forehead. Chester was at his heels, running over to see who had come home. Alice gave her husband a kiss, saying that she would be there for the next few days, and if the plot to kill Moran worked, she would be moving back in permanently. "John'll be home for dinner," Mrs. Hudson reported after Alice had put her things away. "We'll all be able to have a real dinner together for once. I've missed it."

Archie came home from school, dropping his satchel on the sofa and giving Alice a hug. Alice smiled, thinking of the time when he had fallen asleep on the sofa and Sherlock had to pick him up and carry him to bed. He'd opened his eyes a bit, mumbling, "Dad, can I sleep on the sofa?" Sherlock had told him no, that he needed to be in bed, and the boy had turned his head a bit, looking at Alice. "Mum, can I-" Alice smiled, realizing once again that they practically did have a child now.

John was happy to see her, and Rosie smiled and laughed as Alice held her, asking her father how things had been going in the surgery and at Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson kept calling her into the kitchen, having her taste things and beaming at the young woman, glad that she was finally home, and likely there to stay.

Dinner was a family event, with the six of them crowded around the kitchen table, which had been long ago scarred with chemicals and knife wounds, but was still good. Mrs. Hudson had outdone herself, at least according to John, who had had second helpings of everything. They talked for a long time, Archie going off to work on his homework and Rosie nodding off as they made tea. "You're staying for sure?"

Alice nodded. "I'm staying. Sherlock's having part of his network take care of Moran. Once he's out of our lives, I think we'll all be able to breathe a little easier."

"Well I'm just glad you're home. Sherlock's nearly gone mad without you," Mrs. Hudson told her matter-of-factly as she stirred a bit more milk into her teacup.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, adding, "Mrs. Hudson's the one who's almost gone mad without you here."

"I'll leave that up to my deductions," Alice smiled, taking a sip of her tea. "I'm just happy I'm home."

When everything had been put away and the dishes had been rinsed and put in the dishwasher, Sherlock and Alice took Chester for a walk, heading down the back roads of London. He'd grabbed her hand in silence, simply happy that they were back in the normal rhythm of life, or at least as close to normal as they could come. "When do we know it's over?" Alice asked as they turned down another street. "When he's been taken care of?"  
"I should know soon," Sherlock promised her, stopping to let Chester investigate a paper bag that had been left on the side of the street. "There are a couple of fallback plans in place, just in case the first plot doesn't work like we want it to. But if worst comes to worst, you're staying at Baker Street while we take care of him ourselves."

She thought for a moment, finally asking, "It won't come to that, will it?"

"It shouldn't." They walked along in the calm quiet that came with nighttime, slowing down whenever Chester wanted to check something out. "I missed you," Sherlock said after a while.

Alice squeezed his hand. "I missed you too."

"No, I mean I missed you. I missed waking up next to you and going to bed with you and everything we did in between," he admitted. "I missed the little family that we had made, even if it wasn't the average family… I'm just so glad you're home." He stopped to give her a kiss, Alice promising that she wasn't going away any time soon. "Good. Because I'm not letting go of you."

They stayed up late talking and drinking their way through a bottle of red wine that Mrs. Hudson had picked up a few days earlier. John was up with them for a while, but went to bed around midnight, since he had to be up for work the next morning. Archie wandered out to see what was going on, but Alice spun him around and walked him back to bed, since he had school in the morning. He'd grumbled a bit, but had fallen asleep again almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

When they finally got up from the sofa, Alice and Sherlock sleepily brushed their teeth, curling up in bed together. _She's home. She's home, and she's not leaving soon. God, I'm lucky. Her hair still smells like it did before._ "Hey," Sherlock mumbled, Alice looking up at him. He gave her a kiss, saying, "What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"Don't you have a case? You've always got a case."

"I do, but it's practically solved. I'm waiting to make Mycroft more invested in it. It's one of his assignments," Sherlock explained as he wrapped an arm around her. "So I have some free time, as long as Big Brother doesn't try to check in. And I'm fairly certain he's away at a conference in Norway, so we may have just been left without supervision."

"It really doesn't matter, as long as I'm with you. Let's find a crime museum or something. Or go see a show. We could take Archie to the zoo, let him skip school. Whatever we do, it'll be fine as long as I don't have to think about Moran for a while," Alice thought aloud. Sherlock nodded.

Ultimately, they would spend their days doing all sorts of different things, but it was fun. They took Archie out of school on Friday and went down to the beach, a few hours away. Alice got tons of great pictures. As she watched Sherlock and Archie building a sandcastle that was towering over their spot on the beach, she smiled, thinking that things were back to normal. _This is what it's supposed to be like, having a family. Building sand castles and slathering everyone in sunscreen, making sure they've had enough water and don't wander too far from our spot here. I can't believe this is real. I have a real family. Hell, I've lived long enough to have a real family._ "My goodness, boys, it looks like Chester could fit in here," she laughed, snapping more pictures of all of them as she circled the castle.

Sunday morning, Alice woke up to a phone call. She reached for her mobile, sleepily saying hello. Sherlock rolled over to look as her, seeing her face drop as she recognized who was on the other line. "Yes. Yes, I see. That's awful. Do you have any idea who it is? But he… he's dead, Seb. Okay. I'll look into it. Okay. When's your flight landing? Okay. I'll make sure there's a car there. Have a safe flight. Goodbye." She hung up, staring at the mobile in her hand.

Sherlock reached out for her, wrapping her in his arms. When she finally spoke, her voice was close to breaking. "All of your fail-safes failed. He changed his whole itinerary when he realized someone was after him. Sherlock, he's alive. And he's coming back. He'll be back here in the evening. Sherlock…"

"He's not going to get you," he promised, pulling her to his chest. "I'll kill him before he gets the chance. There's no way he's going to get anywhere near you."


	58. Chapter 58

_Moran's alive. He's alive, and he's back in London._ Alice couldn't get the thought out of her head. She couldn't fall back to sleep. Staring at the ceiling, all she could do was think of Moran coming to find them. He would come after Mrs. Hudson and John, Rosie and Archie. And Sherlock. She turned, looking to where her husband was sleeping peacefully, his arm still draped over her. Sherlock didn't deserve all of this. He didn't deserve being dragged into her mess. She was going to have to take care of Moran herself, well before he could take care of any of them. One last time, she would have to go back to working the way he did. Living the way she had been taught many years before.

She sighed, getting up as quietly as she could, trying not to wake Sherlock up as she stood. Moran still thought she was on his side, or so it seemed. Alice went to brush her teeth, Sherlock rolling over in bed. He had almost immediately realized that she had moved. "You okay?"

"Fine, just can't sleep," she told him, running a hand through his hair. "I'm going to make some coffee or something. You don't have to get up."

"Mhm." Sherlock was asleep again within a few minutes. Alice smiled, glad that he was finally getting some sleep. It seemed like he never slept, at least on cases. And he almost always had a case. She went out into the kitchen, thinking of Moran as she turned the coffeemaker on. He was already home, and they were supposed to be meeting later in the day. Alice had told him that she was moving into her own apartment, but she would be able to help him work whenever he needed her. He'd accepted it, but had told her to be careful, since she was supposed to be dead. Of course, she had agreed.

 _You're going to have to kill him today. The longer you let him live, the more likely he's going to catch on to what you're doing, and the more likely he's going to figure out that Sherlock's still living in Baker Street. Yes, it'll have to be today. But how? He wants to meet at a cafe. That's kind of public, isn't it? Poisoning. It'll have to be poisoning. There's plenty of time to pick something up from the lab, anything you can just drop into his coffee. It'll be easy. As long as it's something that's not going to start working right away._

She cleared off the small table that had once been her desk, back when she had been living and working at Baker Street. But now that she was back, she was going to have to take it over again. Archie's half-constructed science project was covering her old desk. She read over it while she was rearranging everything - it was good. Maybe Sherlock had helped him. She hoped he had. It was a fatherly thing to do, wasn't it? Archie was a smart kid, and he loved working with Sherlock in his makeshift lab. Yes, she was sure Sherlock had had a hand in Archie's work. What other kid would be studying blood analysis at his age?

It was nice having her desk back, a place to set up her laptop and work, watching over the rest of the flat. From her desk, she could see into the living room and could watch clients come in, relating their stories. She'd offer her advice, chiming in if Sherlock got lost in his Mind Palace and the client got confused, wondering if he was even listening. Or she would sit with a client who was sobbing their eyes out, since she could handle them far better than Sherlock could. She could also see into the dining room, where Sherlock would set up his experiments and work for hours. Alice would get up and bring him snacks, since he wouldn't stop for lunch and dinner.

Taking a seat, she looked through her emails, replying to a few and deleting the majority of them. _In a few hours, Moran's going to be back in London. Ugh, don't think about him. Think about Sherlock, about Archie. You have a family now. You're so much better than him. All you have to do is take care of Moran, and you'll be home free, back to serial killers and blackmailers._ She took a sip of her coffee, checking the news. Nothing big - it was a good day.

Sherlock rolled out of bed in the middle of the morning, finding Alice working on something and hardly paying attention. "I said I'm making pancakes, do you want any?"

"Shit, Archie should be up by now." Alice jumped out of her chair, going to wake the boy up as Sherlock shrugged and headed into the kitchen, starting to make pancakes for all of them. _This is what normal life feels like. This is how it should be, us running around and getting brunch together and getting work done and all of that. It just feels right._ Moran was threatening all of that, and all she could think of, even sitting on the side of Archie's bed and shaking him awake, was the looming spectre of her old boss.

They had brunch in their pajamas before Alice jumped in the shower and headed to the morgue, where she snuck in to see Molly. Molly would know what she needed to get rid of Moran. But of course, she wouldn't just give her a deadly weapon. "Hey, I need your help with something."

Molly set down what she had been working on, turning to give Alice a hug. "It's good to see you again. Sherlock's been going mad without you. Well, that's the usual Sherlock - was the usual Sherlock, but you've helped him so much. What do you need?"

"It's for a case. I need to know what can poison someone."

"Well that's pretty broad."

Alice smiled, leaning on the counter as she explained, "What can be put into a drink like coffee that won't be tasted? It has to be something that's slow-acting, but once it starts, it has to work quickly. Something that has a time delay, maybe half an hour or so."

"There are a few things that could work like that. Strychnine is bitter, but in strong black coffee, it would be nearly tasteless. It would have about a 15-minute window with ingestion. Ricin could work too, but that's a bit harder to come by, at least for the public. You'd have to distill it from castor beans, while strychnine is in pesticides," Molly told her, snapping on another pair of gloves. "You trying to poison someone?"

"No," Alice laughed, "we've got an interesting case down in Brighton, and I figured I'd ask for your help. The ME I talked to is rubbish. I doubt he can tell one end of a scalpel from the other."

"Well, I'd say you need a blood analysis to be sure." Molly picked up a pipette, continuing, "You'll be able to tell by the blood, but I know that takes time. If your guy was in the hospital, they'll probably have drawn some blood, maybe even started an analysis there."

"Thank you so much," Alice nodded. "Look, I know you're busy, but you should swing by for dinner one day. Pick a day, just let me know. We haven't had time to catch up in a while. I've got to get back and let Sherlock know, but I'll see you around, okay?"

"Definitely. Tell him and everyone else hi for me."

"Got it." As Alice walked down the hall towards the elevators, she wondered where she could get enough castor oil to distill in the next few hours. It would be a lot of shopping trips around town, paying in cash. Getting the Homeless Network involved would be too risky. Not again. They had already botched it once.

She spent her day running around, picking up as many of the ingredients that she needed as she could. The afternoon was spent in her makeshift laboratory, borrowing Sherlock's chemistry equipment. He was there to help her, but they kept Archie out of the way. Mrs. Hudson eventually borrowed him to help her fix something in her flat, so he wouldn't be there to ask too many questions. He had already been asking why they were being so careful and why they were boiling down all of this oil. One or two more questions would have led to the truth. Alice had already sat him down and told him the harsh reality that "we only kill people if there is no way out and they're about to kill us". But still, this felt wrong. Really, though, there was no way out. They could flee the country, they could go into a protection program, but there was no other way of dealing with Moran than this.

They had distilled just enough for one does right before Alice had to leave. She'd run to get ready while Sherlock was still heating things, and had grabbed the vial from him on her way out the door with a, "Thank you. Wish me luck."

Moran met her at the cafe, having staked out a spot at an outside table. "Hey. How was Italy?"

"I got a lot of work done, but there was this man tailing me… I had to turn my entire schedule around," Moran confided. "I think there's someone trying to look into things too much. Probably Scotland Yard."

"I can poke around and see if they've got anyone keeping tabs on you," Alice offered. "I've still got my login credentials. I don't think they've cancelled them yet. Hey, I'm going to run in and get a coffee. Want anything?"

"Black, one sugar," Moran nodded. "I'll save our spot. And find some photos of that guy. Maybe you'll recognize him."

Alice went into the coffee shop, ordered, and picked the coffees up, taking them to a small table filled with sugar, straws, and coffee creamer. She was careful to stir in enough sugar, blocking Moran's view from outside, her back turned to the window as she dropped the contents of the vial that she'd been hiding in her pocket into the steaming liquid. Stirred it once, twice, three times, before dropping the coffee stirrer into the trash. She stirred some sugar and creamer into her own coffee, heading back outside and handing Moran his cup.

She sat down nonchalantly, hoping that he would drink enough to kill him. They sat and talked for a while, Moran sending Alice pictures of the man who had been following him in Italy. She had no idea who he was, but surely he was part of the Homeless Network. He had to be. She watched him carefully, Moran drinking his coffee rather quickly. She excused herself, saying she wasn't feeling well but would be looking into the man's identity at home.

As she left, she texted Sherlock, saying she would be back at Baker Street soon, and that Moran had been poisoned. He would be getting ill soon, and would likely be dead before the day was out. Taking a deep breath, she looked out of the window of her cab, thinking of how they would be seeing an unattended death at Saint Bart's soon.

They were in the middle of dinner when Alice's phone went off, a few texts flying in. She slid her phone to Sherlock, who nodded, telling her they would have to be careful from now on, and that they needed to take more permanent measures to get rid of him. Like a gunshot.

 _I know he's alive._

 _You poisoned me._

 _You're both dead._


	59. Chapter 59

Alice sat numbly in the Baker Street living room, in a chair she'd almost never used. Sure, she would sit there when they had get-togethers and there were no other places to sit. But now, the client chair was hers. Sherlock sat across from her, but didn't look any more intimidating than he normally did. He'd made her a cup of tea and sat in his pajamas, waiting for her to talk. He took a drink, Alice sighing, her head in her hands. "You're going to have to tell me the truth this time, all of it, okay? You've told me so many different versions, and I don't know what to believe. You're an anomaly, Alice Holmes. I can't understand you."

"What I did, all of the lies I've told, it's all been for you," she assured him, not daring to meet his eye. "I thought I could finally have a normal life with you, and Archie, and Mrs. Hudson, and everyone else. I thought for once I could have a family." She took a sip of her tea, saying, "I'm going to tell you the truth, okay? I'm going to tell you… Sherlock, you have to promise me you'll listen, and not interrupt me, and that you'll… that you'll not hate me by the end of it."

"I promise," Sherlock nodded, waiting.

She sighed again, setting her glasses on top of her head. "My father was deeply involved in the Irish Mafia. He wasn't home a lot, thank god. But when he was, he would smoke, he'd drink, he'd beat my mother. And he'd come home in the middle of the night, covered in blood. I thought he would get into fights, but… that wasn't it. I know because he killed my mum when I was six. I was home, I saw everything. He swore he would kill me if I told anyone. So I didn't, for years. I went on living like that, in that crappy house with an even crappier father. When I was fifteen, he taught me how to drive, and then he took me to a mob meeting. He was a shitty father, and I finally saw what he did for a living. He introduced me to this up-and-coming guy named Jim. And Seb. I made friends with both of them, and they convinced me to do it."

She paused, taking a sip of her tea as Chester padded over. Scratching the dog's ears, she picked him up, settling into the chair. Chester was a bit confused, but yawned, quickly falling asleep on her lap. "I killed him when I was sixteen. He'd come home from a job, and he'd fallen asleep on the sofa midway through his seventh beer. He'd just shouted at me to bring him dinner, and I came back into the room and killed him. It was so… messy."

 _Blood, she was covered in blood. She dropped the knife, realizing that there was blood all over the sofa, all over the beer cans that were covering the floor. But her hands weren't shaking. Alice felt nothing, and it was great to be rid of him. But now there was a body to get rid of. Jim could take care of it. Sure, he was young, but Jim knew how to sweep things - people, even - under the rug and make everyone think they had never existed at all._

"Apparently that's just what they were looking for in me," she explained, Sherlock listening attentively. "Jim eventually took over - I don't know all of the details, but he ended up running our chapter, and then so much more. But I went to live with a relative of his. Hell, she practically became my mother. But she got kind of… overbearing, you know. So I left, went to university, and became a professional assassin. While I got my degree in criminology, if you can believe it. Jim's empire paid for everything, as long as I kept killing for him. I was on a team designed to get you, actually. You were target number one. I'd been all over the world, and now I was back in London, trying to get you. And then I actually met you, and… well, I'm here now, aren't I?"

Sherlock nodded, waiting a second before asking, "What did you do?"

"I never did any of that collecting bets or anything. They saw that I could kill someone - my father, nonetheless - so they sent me right to assassin training. I've shot people and carved people up. Dictators and Senators, all over the world. And normal people who just couldn't pay up, or people who had done wrong. I took care of people who needed taking care of." Alice shook her head, confessing that, "Every time I did it, I felt nothing. No, that's not right, I felt everything. Every beat of their heart, the quivering muscles that tense under a knife, that rush of blood like you'd spilled a glass of water all over the floor. I felt it, what happens when you see the last spark of energy leave someone. I felt everything, and Sherlock, it felt _good_. You tell people you're not a psychopath, but… Sherlock, I am. I love you, I really, really love you. I know I feel that. But when it comes to death and dying, all of that, I feel nothing. There are very, very few people who I would cry for if they died. Most of the world, well, I could take a serrated knife to their jugulars and it would feel just fine. It's a terrible thing to say, but I just don't feel anything. That's how I did it, and how I lived with myself. I know, it sounds revolting, but… well, I'm practically clinical, Sherlock. There's a reason I went into forensics and forensic psych, a reason I specialized in serial killers."

"How are you so good at dealing with clients? All of that emotion, that messiness."

"I've just learned how to listen, how to mimic, how to fake it better than you can. I'd still be able to do it, you know. If I had to. Carve someone up or something like that. But I try my best to live like a normal person, to act normal. I try so hard and.. And Moran comes back and fucks it all up, and now here I am, spilling all the dirty secrets I've kept for so long and…" Sherlock did something he never did with any other client. He stood, Chester jumping off of Alice's lap and running off as Sherlock balanced on the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around Alice. She hugged him back, near tears. "I'm sorry you have to get involved with all of this."

"It's okay," he promised. "As long as it's the truth."

"It is," she assured him, burying her face in his chest. "I've done awful things, and now they're finally catching up with me. Mycroft's wiped my records and put fake ones in, since people tended to disappear when I travelled places. He's done so much… now I can just blame it on the work I do, and it'll all blow over with the Yard and with the press. He's been too good to me, just like you have."

"Well, I'll tell you what," Sherlock said, trying to keep her calm, "It's fine with me. Whoever you were, whatever your past was, it's okay. All that matters is who you are now. And now you're my wife, you're Scotland Yard's finest detective, you're a good mother to Archie and a good godmother to Rosie. You're Alice Holmes, and that's who you'll always be to me." He hoped that he had said the right things. He wasn't too good with human interaction. But evidently, neither was she.

They stayed up together for hours, not really talking, but just existing in each other's presence. Chester eventually returned, sitting down beside their chair. He fell asleep just as they were getting up and heading to bed. "You know, I'd wondered how you got this good," Sherlock said while he was brushing his teeth. "I mean, people as observant as we are don't usually just pop up out of nowhere."

"It helps if you know what you're looking for. Even if it's as strange as hiding a body in a cemetery," Alice quipped as she got into bed. Sherlock joined her soon after. "Thank you, by the way. Thank you for putting up with all of this, and thank you for letting me tell you… well, sort of in my own time. Just… thank you."

They went public the next morning, saying they were both alive through a series of press releases. It was chalked up to an anonymous tip that blew up when they couldn't be reached for comment. So now they were back, ready to take on Moran and his network. Moran had been released from the hospital with strict instructions, but he had already been working on plans to attack Sherlock, Alice, and everyone who mattered to them. It was only a matter of time before he struck.

It was a regular Wednesday afternoon when he enacted his plan. Alice had just gotten home from the Yard, and Sherlock was trailing a lead on a theft case. He'd come home soon after. It was nearing 4 when Alice realized that Archie hadn't gotten back to the flat yet. His school wasn't far, so he would walk there and back with a few of his friends who lived nearby. They were usually home by 4, though. "Sherlock, does Archie have a meeting today?"

"No, why?"

"It's nearly 4 and he isn't home." She appeared at the side of the table he had his chemistry set on. "I'm going to give it a bit more time before I call the school. And the other kids' parents."

She waited until a quarter after 4, and then began making phone calls. She wasn't too panicked at first, but when the attendance clerk told her Archie had never made it to school, she immediately called Lestrade. "Archie's missing. This has to be Moran. Get an APW out on him. Sherlock and I are going to start searching." She hung up, rousing Sherlock out of his experiment. "He could be anywhere by now, but... we have to try. I'll call John and let Mrs. Hudson know. And Molly, she can help when she gets off of work. Sherlock, what if something terrible's happened to him already?"


	60. Chapter 60

A.N.: Y'all, we got to 60 chapters! Thank you so much for all of your support and to all of you who leave reviews - they're super encouraging and I love hearing what you all think of my work! I can't believe I've written so much already... but I'm not going anywhere soon - I still have plenty of ideas and some things need to get resolved in the next few chapters. Anyway, thank you all so much and enjoy!

* * *

"Look, we've got to split up and cover more ground," Alice said, raking a hand through her hair as she paced, glancing at the map of London that Sherlock had pinned to the evidence wall a long, long time ago. "I'll head up to -"

"John's on the phone," Mrs. Hudson called from the kitchen, where she had gone to call him and a short list of other people, "he's going to start near his practice and head outward. I'll stay here with Rosie and hold down the fort."

The next few seconds were a flurry of action as so many things started to happen at once. Alice's mobile began to ring just as someone knocked on the door. Mrs. Hudson held the phone to her chest, letting Lestrade in as Alice sank into the sofa, answering her phone. "Hey, Molly, yeah, good to hear from you. Archie's gone missing. If you could check the admit records and then.. Okay, sure. Thank you so much. Yeah, Mrs. Hudson's going to be here. A few people from the Network just left. Okay. Thank you so much. Thanks. Bye."

She stood, tucking her phone into her pocket. "Let's go," she nodded to Sherlock, who had been filling Lestrade in and telling him where to go. "We'll split up in the Tube station." He took her hand and they left together, not saying a word until they were out on the street. "I'm heading for Moran's. He'd probably take him back there. Then I'm going to head over to Phil's and see if I can get him enlisted, and send him off towards the -"

"Honey, you're going to stress yourself out before we've even started." Sherlock stopped her on the sidewalk outside of the Baker Street Tube station, turning to say, "Take a deep breath and _think_."

"You're right, you're right. I've got to hop a train. Good luck." Alice gave him a kiss on the cheek as she fished for her Tube card, adding, "I love you."

"I love you too." They split up, Alice heading for Moran's and double-checking that she had her gun in her pocket. She sat quietly on the Tube, jumping up a bit too enthusiastically when the time came for her to get off at her stop. Edging past a couple of businesspeople on their way home from work, Alice made her way out of the Tube station and onto the street.

She edged around the back of the house, checking to see if the lights were on. They weren't, but she was cautious anyway, being sure to pick the lock as quickly as she could and slip into the front hall. Taking her gun out of her pocket, she went upstairs, sweeping the house from the second story down. By the time she'd gotten to the basement, she'd almost lost hope that there would be anything in the house. _Deep breath. Count to three, throw open the door and flip on the lights._

Alice did just that, but there was nothing in the basement except for some old furniture and empty storage bins. She'd turned to look under the stairs to make sure, at first finding nothing. _Wait. Hamburger wrapper._ She picked up the wrapper, flipping it over to see the inside, where Archie had written in crayon one word: warehouse.

"Sherlock, we need to be looking in all of the warehouses around London." Alice tucked her gun back in her pocket as she dashed up the stairs two at a time, stopping on the landing when she heard a noise. "I've got to go." She dropped her phone back into her pocket, pulling her gun out again. Sweeping the first floor, she made a quick exit, looking back more than a few times as she ducked into alleyways and tried to get out of the area.

Back at Baker Street, everyone huddled together over Sherlock's laptop, looking at a map of London with every warehouse or old, abandoned building highlighted. "There's no way we could do all of this in one night, even if we had all of Scotland Yard at our disposal," John reasoned, shaking his head.

"Add the Network and we can get it covered," Alice said, jumping to her feet. "Let's get going. I'll call Bill and -"

"Alice, come here. I need to talk to you for a second." Mrs. Hudson pulled her aside, telling her calmly, "You know that can't happen. You're going to have to sleep at some point too, dear. Do whatever you can, and then take a break. Another shift of the Network can take over - I have five or six people sleeping on my sofas and air mattresses downstairs."

Alice nodded solemnly, saying, "We'll go out until two or three, and then I'll tell Sherlock to make me come home." Mrs. Hudson agreed, giving her a hug before she went back to the rest of the search party. She stood by the side of Sherlock's chair, setting a hand on his shoulder. "Ready?"

"Let's go," Sherlock told her, standing. He hadn't bothered to take his coat off, and was already heading to the door as Alice said goodbye to everyone, wishing them luck.

They spent the next hour fruitlessly searching a block of old warehouses and run-down buildings, finding nothing more than a stash of drugs and a few dead rats. Dejectedly, they made their way home, where the rest of the search party reconvened and went over their next steps. They would be meeting up in the morning to get a fresh start, hopefully with more members of the Yard on their force.

Alice took a seat on the sofa after everyone had left, her head in her hands. Sherlock sat down next to her, wrapping his arms around his wife. She laid her head on his shoulder in silence. "He's going to be okay. He's a smart kid," she told him, Sherlock nodding. It sounded more like she was trying to reason things out than convince herself that he would be alright. "But I'm just so damn scared for him. I… I've already lost one child. Sherlock, I can't lose him too."

"We won't," he assured her. "He's going to be fine. Keep your phone by your bed so you'll hear it if anything happens."

"You're right. We won't." She got up, changing into her pajamas and brushing her teeth. Sherlock laid down on the sofa, thinking as she returned and began to pace. After fifteen minutes or so, he opened his eyes to say, "You're thinking yourself into a mess, Alice. You would be better off getting some sleep, dear."

"So would you."

"You know I don't need much sleep, especially when I'm on a case. But you, you need your rest," Sherlock told her.

Alice sighed, wishing him a halfhearted goodnight as she went off to bed. _She needs you. You can't let her go to bed alone, not now. She needs you._ Sherlock soon got up and joined her in silence, holding his wife until she fell asleep. It didn't take long, since Alice had been running on caffeine and snacks from vending machines for a while, and was nearly asleep on their walk home.

He waited until her breathing had evened out before he kissed her cheek and slowly got up, making sure not to wake her. He crept into the bathroom, finding where he had hidden everything in the false panel under the sink. Sherlock headed back to the living room and rolling up his sleeve. _Not too much. You have to be up before she is. She didn't set an alarm, you might be able to push it. No, better be safe. You're going to need to get more soon. And pinch a few more needles from Molly._


	61. Chapter 61

It was 3:41 in the morning when Alice rolled over in bed, reaching out for Sherlock and only getting a handful of blankets instead. She yawned, throwing a curtain of red hair out of her eyes as she sat up, looking towards the bathroom. No, the light wasn't on. Curious. She grabbed her glasses, heading for the living room to see if he had gotten up and gone back to work. He would do that sometimes, sleep a few hours and then get up to think. She would wake up to find him in the living room, or perched on the kitchen table, or playing the violin in the furthest corner of the flat so he wouldn't wake her.

Sherlock was sitting on the floor in his pajamas, leaning on the sofa in silence. _He must be thinking. Back to bed, then._ No, something didn't seem right. This didn't seem like he was in his Mind Palace... it looked like he was somewhere else. _No, you're overreacting. Probably._ "Sherlock."

"Hmm."

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

"Hmm." He shook his head slightly, mouthing, "I'm fine."

Alice frowned, crouching down next to him. "Sherlock. Talk to me. Are you okay?"

"Fine."

She shook his shoulder, Sherlock turning to look at her with glassy eyes. "Honey, you don't look okay." Alice bit her lip, thinking that this could only mean one thing. "Where's the list?"

It took a few seconds for him to respond. "What list? Oh shit." He jumped up, dashing for the bathroom. Soon enough, Alice was sitting next to him as he threw up. "My head… everything is spinning."

"What did you have?"

He leaned his head on the wall, handing her a note as he retched again. She nodded, reading it over as she ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, you're going to feel pretty bad for a while. I wouldn't have recommended mixing some of these, but it's too late now, I guess. And it looks like you destroyed that plate of brownies in the kitchen, but they're pretty old. They couldn't have sat well in your stomach alone. I'm sorry, honey. But if there's anything-"

The rest of her sentence was cut off as Sherlock coughed for a second before leaning over and throwing up again. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with this."

"It's okay." She let him lean over the toilet basin as she rubbed his back, saying, "I know this is what you turn to and it's okay. Just let me know next time. Believe me, I've had a few bad trips myself. Not anything of a mix like this, but still, I've had my fair share of times that I've ended up with my head in the loo my fair share of times."

"Me too."

She handed him a cup of water to wash his mouth out with and began talking as he leaned on the wall. "You probably won't remember a lot of this, and you're probably going to want to close your eyes because the room's going to start spinning again. Or keep them open if it's spinning when you close them. Focus on a spot on the wall, one tiny detail. I know I'm talking to an addict, but still… You know, the first time I ended up like this I was in university. It was my roommate's birthday weekend, and we'd cooked up some pot brownies and started drinking. We had like five other people there, including her new boyfriend." She looked to Sherlock, who was staring at a speck on the wallpaper. "I was with my best friend, and he had more than I did, but I guess it was a bad day or a bad combination… but he ended up sitting there in the girls' bathroom with me, keeping me company while I puked my guts up."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "He ended up working in weapons research for the government - all that high-tech secret stuff. I should give him a call." He nodded again. "And now here I am, sitting with you on our bathroom floor."

He began to speak slowly, the words floating out of his mouth. "Do you know how I started? I mean, did I ever tell you?"

"I've heard a bit about it. Mycroft told me about your parents finding out, and Uncle Rudy wanting to send you to rehab."

Sherlock sighed, the story progressing slowly but clearly as he focused on one thing at a time. "I was sixteen. It was cocaine. I was away at school, and this group of boys was passing it around. They never got what I got out of it. They would get high and screw around, but it helped me think. And helped me not to have to think about the rest of the world. I could be inside my own mind and let it work, not have to think about anything or anyone else. It was… so perfect. So I branched out."

Alice nodded, asking, "How do you feel?"

"Awful."

"But do you feel like you're done throwing up?"

"Maybe."

"Okay, let's get you some mouthwash and then get you up and into bed." She stood, grabbing a bottle of mouthwash from next to the sink and pouring him a bit. Slowly and carefully, she helped him stand, guiding him towards the bed, where she laid him down gently before going to turn the bathroom light off. "I'll be right back, okay? There's a trash can next to the bed if you need it."

"Mhmm."

Alice left for a second to get rid of the drugs that were still on the living room table, washing the powders and liquids down the sink, breaking the needles into the trash can, and burying all the remains under a bunch of kitchen scraps. She turned the lights off, Chester curling up by the bedroom door as she walked back to check on Sherlock. He was in that sort of twilight sleep where he could still hear her but barely responded. "Alice?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." He squeezed her hand, taking a deep breath before closing his eyes and going to sleep.

Alice sat up for a little while before going to bed, running a hand through her husband's hair. "I wish there was some way I could help you," she whispered. "Sherlock, I wish… I wish you weren't an addict. Not for my sake, but for yours. It hurts you so much. I'm sorry. I know you're trying to get better."

It was mid-afternoon by the time Sherlock woke up. Alice was perched in a chair in the corner of the room, typing away at her laptop when he sat up in bed, looking around. "Hey. How are you doing?"

"I need a shower."

"That's good. You need a shower and a decent meal." She stood, setting her laptop in the chair. "I'll go heat something up while you jump in the shower. I know you won't want to eat much, but it'll help you feel better. Or at least it'll help keep you standing."

"What's happening with the manhunt?" Sherlock called as he walked into the bathroom.

"There's a shift of people out now, and Lestrade's officially got him listed as a missing person. We'll go out later in the day, when this shift comes in. They'll be here for dinner at 7, and then we'll go out after dinner," Alice explained, Chester following her into the kitchen, looking for scraps.

Sherlock joined her a little while latter, ruffling his hair as he sat down at the table with a plate full of leftovers. "There's no news?"

"None yet." Alice joined him with a cup of coffee. "We're moving west with the next few shifts. Hopefully we'll hit something soon, even if it's just another clue. There are way too many abandoned buildings and warehouses to go through in time. I mean, there's already a big chance that…" She took a sip of her coffee, adding, "Anyway, our chances are slimming, but there are a few places I want to look into myself, so I've marked them off for us."

Dinner was a bunch of people crammed around a table that was way too small to fit an entire shift of a search party, but Alice and Sherlock sat through it, making their escape as soon as they could. Their first stop was an old warehouse on the other side of town, one that Moran had been running a business out of for a while, and one that Alice was fairly familiar with. They arrived a little while after sunset, Sherlock following her inside. Alice swept the room and headed right for the stairs to the basement, where she knew Moran would be if he was using this place as a hideout.

She motioned for Sherlock to follow her as she drew her gun, taking the stairs slowly. A light was on in the corner, a boy tied to a chair humming to himself even though his mouth had been taped shut. "Archie." Sherlock bounded past Alice, starting to untie the boy as she surveyed the room. "Are you alright?"

"Sherlock, take the - shit, Archie I know." She had seen the look in the boy's eyes and spun around as a gun cocked behind them.

Stepping out of the shadows, Moran smiled devilishly. "Nice to see the two of you alive and well. And this little boy of yours… he's a smart one. You know, I've never killed a whole family in one go. It'll be sad to lose you especially, Alice, but I see whatever bond you had with Jim and I is long gone."


	62. Chapter 62

Alice had dealt with Moran before. She'd dealt with his diplomacy, and she'd dealt with him when he was angry. But she'd only seen him when he was feeling particularly murderous. She had never been on the opposing side. As he held a gun on them, there were several things flying through her head. _I could shoot him and end it. Sherlock's calculating trajectories already. You'll be able to get him, but he'll get one of them first. Well shit._

"Seb, listen," she began, knowing that Sherlock would say something stupid if she didn't stop him. "I know you hate me, I know you hate what I did. And I know you hate Sherlock, and that you always have. But look, he - Archie's just a kid. He's got nothing to do with this. You can't keep him here."

Moran scoffed, keeping his gun trained on them as he leaned against the stair railing. "You really think that'll work? The kid's seen too much as it is."

"All of Scotland Yard is looking for you," Sherlock told him as he stood a half-step in front of Archie. "You won't be able to get far even if you murder us."

"Well, there's nothing stopping me in that case, is there?" Moran mused. "I mean, they're looking for me on espionage charges, illegal trading, arms dealing, and about half a dozen other things right now."

"Sherlock, maybe this isn't the best time for you to be talking," Alice told him, putting a hand on her husband's arm. _Let me handle this._ "Seb, seriously, he's a kid. You think they'll let you off any easier if you kill a kid?"

"They're not going to let me off for anything. Not since I've already been in Pentonville once. Now there are a few things I'm going to tell you before I have to kill you."

Sherlock took a seat next to Archie, untying him while Moran began to speak. He looked a bit unhinged, in Sherlock's opinion, standing there and spouting his list of grievances like some sort of manifesto while he waved a gun at them. Archie sat there stoically, watching the gun in Moran's hand.

"So why am I going to execute you all? I'll start with you," Moran told Alice. "You were one of Jim and I's closest friends. We trusted you with so much - you were one of the first people we told when we got together, and you helped manage so much. But all of that went out of the window when you met him." He gestured with the gun towards Sherlock, all of them flinching a bit. "Then you had the nerve to come back, crying to me about him, saying you wanted to get rid of him, when the two of you really teamed up to try to get rid of me. You're a poisonous one, you are."

"Seb, what I did has nothing to do with you and Jim, nothing at all. You remember that day, when you were so giddy waiting to tell me? You could barely contain yourself until we got to the restaurant," she reminisced, trying to get him to think back to happier times. _Humanize them. Humanize yourself. Make them realize what they're doing is wrong. Prove how human you all are. Connect, but don't turn to their side. Be careful what you say._ They had trained for captive situations like this at the Yard. _The Yard. No, if you try to call them, he'd get off a couple of shots before anyone could get him. He doesn't have that good of an aim. But this room is small enough that any chance of something ricocheting would be too much._

"And you," he gestured to Sherlock again, "You've been working against us from the beginning. First you take my right-hand woman. Then you take Jim. Then you get me arrested. I was there in that courtroom, you know. Watching you - your smartarse presentation there that almost got Jim convicted. If it weren't for all of the work I did on those jurors, he would have been locked up for sure. You loved it. I saw that look on your face. You relished every minute of it. Proving how smart you are, just trying to show off for the cameras."

"I did no such-"

"Sherlock," Alice warned, taking a step forward. She was now in front of both of them, keeping Moran from getting a full shot at either one of them. "Seb, that's Sherlock. He shows off, he mouths off, but you've got to think, he wasn't doing it for the press. He was doing it for me. We'd started dating a little while before, and he knew I would be there. He had to look especially genius-like that day, for the cameras, but mostly for me." _Minimize him being a show-off. And don't let Sherlock say anything else that'll get you all killed._ "Why can't you let Archie go? He'll identify you, sure, but so can half of England by now."

"That kid of yours is just like him," Moran told her matter-of-factly. "He's deduced quite a few things in his time here, even when he's been blindfolded. There's too much of a risk letting a mini-Sherlock Holmes out into the world. He would turn into a Batman story and come after me in the end, now wouldn't you?" He had turned to Archie, who was staring back bravely, even though Alice could read the minute signs of fear on the boy's face.

She shook her head, sighing, "He wouldn't do that, Seb. He's just a kid, and a kid who likes mysteries at that. He's not a superhero, he's not a detective, he's a kid, Seb. And what was the rule we always operated on? You never kill kids or old people, unless they were the heads of organizations or directly involved somehow. And with kids - do you ever remember killing a kid? Because I don't. There's definitely something wrong if that happens."

"You're all going to die anyway, regardless of if I do it or not. Even if I don't kill you, one of the others will come after you. That's the funny thing. Jim was in charge, sure, but now I am. And there's an endless line of men and women who would take over at a moment's notice. You'll never be able to take all of us down, even if you had all of Scotland Yard on your side. You would have to take down every last one of us."

"Seb, have you been drinking? You smell like bourbon. You know you can't make decisions like this if you've been drinking," she reasoned. "Think about it for a minute. No one needs to die."

"You all do," Moran assured her. "It's only a matter of time, my dear."

"Seb, I'm the one you really want. I'm the one who betrayed you. Sure, Sherlock's done a lot to hurt you and your empire, but I'm the one who sold you and Jim out," Alice sighed, taking another step towards him. "I'm going to take my gun out of my pocket and place it on the ground. Then I'm going to kneel and let you execute me, on the condition that they get to live."

Moran nodded silently. "Very well. But they will be marked."

"I know," Alice assured him, "but for now, they get to live. Archie needs a chance to grow up. He deserves a chance to live and make his own choices, Seb, just like you and Jim gave me."

"For now."

"Can I say goodbye to them?"

"You have two minutes."

Alice turned, pulling Sherlock into a hug. "You've got it, right?"

"Mostly. What do you want me to do with Archie?"

"Make sure he's okay."

They shared a look as Alice bent to hug Archie, Sherlock nodding almost imperceptibly. As she embraced the boy she had begun to call her son, Alice whispered, "Follow what Sherlock wants you to do, okay? He's going to get you out of here. Go left."

She stood, taking a deep breath. "Remember, I love you both, much more than you know." Sherlock gave her one last kiss as Moran told them their time was up.

Alice stepped forward, turning back to give them one last set of instructions. "Don't look. Please."

The next few seconds seemed to speed by, but also seemed to stretch out for millennia. Sherlock held onto Archie, covering his eyes with one hand. He mouthed a last, "I love you" before bowing his head and looking at Moran's feet. Alice stepped forward, kneeling as she fished her gun out of her pocket. She slowly set the weapon next to her as she spoke. "Thank you for giving me a shred of dignity while you do this, Seb. I'm sorry it all didn't work out differently."

"Goodbye." The room held its breath as Moran coked his gun, saying a few last words. Sherlock pulled Archie closer, making sure to keep his eyes covered as they ducked, a gunshot going off in the stillness of the warehouse's basement.


	63. Chapter 63

So much happened at once. As Alice bowed her head, she kept her fingertips resting on her gun. There would only be a few seconds to get this right. She shifted a bit, making sure she was resting on her feet the right way. "Goodbye." Moran cocked his gun. "Have fun in Hell."

And that was her cue. She gripped her gun tightly, springing into a roll that took his legs out. As his shot went off, hitting a beam in the ceiling and ricocheting into the wall, Alice managed to gain her footing again. She'd kicked the gun out of his hand, breaking a few fingers in the process and sending the weapon skittering across the floor into a dusty corner. As he cried out in pain, she put a boot on his chest, leaning forward to say, "I will. Why don't you save me a seat?" He was summarily executed.

Sherlock sat up, having pulled Archie to the ground as Moran's gun went off. "You two okay?" Alice asked, squatting next to them.

"Fine." He pulled her into a hug as Archie dusted himself off. "I'll text Lestrade and let him know there's a body they need to pick up."

Lestrade and his team arrived soon after. Alice had taken Archie upstairs, telling him that they would go out and get food just as soon as the Scotland Yard crew got there. Lestrade pulled her aside as Sherlock came up into the warehouse to wait with Archie. "How'd you know he was here?"

"Lucky guess," Alice shrugged. "He's done business out of here before, and I figured we should check. I just had a feeling, you know?"

"We're going to have to interview him," Lestrade nodded towards where Sherlock and Archie were watching the forensics techs photograph Moran's body and ready a body bag. "Take him home and get him fed, and we'll start tomorrow."

"Let me do it," Alice offered. "I've got the clearance for it, and he'll talk to me over the rest of the division."

Lestrade agreed, thinking that it would be much easier for him to talk to the woman who was practically his mother. "Okay. But you're going to have to get everything on tape. If he says anything to you two tonight, you'll have to ask about it again tomorrow."

"I know," she smiled. "I'm going to take the boys home, call off the search party, and get them fed. okay?"

She and Sherlock stopped at a late-night fish and chips restaurant, getting dinner for all of them and sitting outside, watching people go by on their way to night shifts or back home from work. "We're going to have to go to Scotland Yard tomorrow," Alice told Archie as he wolfed down his dinner. "We're keeping you out of school for the rest of the week, too. There's a lot that we have to do, and I'm sure your teachers will understand."

"Can we get dessert?" Archie asked, taking a sip of his drink.

Alice chuckled. "Not here. Mrs. Hudson's been going crazy while we were looking for you. We had her running things from the flat, so she just wouldn't stop cooking. We've got pies, cakes, pretty much anything you could want. And I made sure Uncle John got ice cream when we went shopping."

"Okay. thanks, Mum." Alice looked to Sherlock, smiling as Archie devoured a handful of chips.

 _He's never called me 'Mum' before._

 _I know._

 _We really are a family, aren't we?_

 _Yes._

They made their way home, Alice insisting that Archie take a bath before getting into bed, no matter how tired he was. As he went off to bed, she and Sherlock sat in the living room, which had just been emptied. John and Rosie had been up, the army doctor reverting to his training and stoically making phone calls to see if anyone had found anything. Mrs. Hudson had been cleaning yet again, dusting and rearranging things. Several members of the Homeless Network had been there, some coming back from their shifts for a hot meal, some sleeping on the sofas and in the chairs, and others getting up to head out on their shifts. They had all been notified as soon as Lestrade got to the scene, everyone heading home and vacating the flat. All of the commotion had died down, leaving John, who had said goodnight to them earlier, and Mrs. Hudson, who had been by to see Archie before she went to bed.

"You know things like this are always a risk," Sherlock said as Alice sat down next to him. The detective wrapped an arm around her. "We're never going to be able to have a really secure life, even as a family."

"And? It's terrifying, and it's exhilarating, but there's no other way I'm going to live, Sherlock. I want to live here, with you, and just do what we do. I want to solve crimes,and catch people, and work with the Yard," she insisted. "I want Archie to be safe, but I know there;s a risk that comes with us just existing. Even if we retired now, we would still be in danger. There's no way I would want anything different. This is our life."

Sherlock nodded. "I'm just glad we have him back."

"Me too."

The next day, Sherlock went back to the cases that had been piling up while he was busy looking for Archie. Alice took the boy into the Yard, and she and Lestrade spent a while talking to him over a box of donuts. They tried their best not to make it too much like an interview, but it was still a lot of questions. They all went out for a late lunch together afterwards, Lestrade saying that Archie could probably make Sergeant before he graduated if he was always as good at remembering details as he was in this case.

Although that was the only time Archie would be kidnapped, they would all have their fair share of adventures. Life never really changed for the Baker Street gang, since they were magnets for the strangest and most dangerous cases out there.

Lestrade remained with the Yard for years, running his division and training his successor, who took over when he finally retired after a harrowing series of homicides that plagued the country and tested the Yard as well as the abilities of the Holmes family. He and Mycroft eventually took over Mr. and Mrs. Holmes' house in the country after Mycroft ceded control of the British government to someone within his supposedly nonexistent department. He would, however, manage his sister's care for much longer, eventually passing it on to Alice, whom Eurus had grown close to, if that could be said about her at all.

Eurus would remain in Sherrinford for the rest of her natural life, being visited by her family fairly often. Archie would meet her when he was old enough to understand who she was and realize how easily she manipulated others. She would always secretly look forward to the days that Alice would come in to talk to people on the island, because she would invariably come by to say hello and spend some time with her sister-in-law. Eurus, while not overly fond of anyone, did enjoy talking to someone on her level. Alice visited more often than any of the others, and after a few years, Eurus did start to enjoy her visits, even if it was in her own twisted way.

Anderson eventually rebounded from the spiral of conspiracy theories that had consumed him after Sherlock's death and resurfacing. He wrote a book that was met with moderate literary success, and went on to make occasional appearances on television shows, talking about his writing and his experiences. The Empty Hearse continued to meet every week for years, turning into a larger fan club after Anderson's book had come out. Alice would drag Sherlock to their meetings sometimes, having him tell them all about their cases - the past ones, of course, as not to release a swarm of truly amateur detectives on London and cause a whole lot more problems. Sherlock would always complain about it, but Anderson and the group loved those days.

Sally Donovan became second-in-command in Homicide and Violent Crimes when Alice took over for Lestrade, and had won praise from the Yard and the government alike when she managed to track down a lead on a case that the media had stuck on. She'd led her own task forces, Alice giving her a lot of leeway because she knew how well Donovan worked, even if she was a bit rough around the edges. Her partner on many of her cases was Billy, who had been taken on by the Yard soon after the Moran case had been closed. Billy himself became a successful detective, solving a ton of cases that baffled the rest of Scotland Yard. Alice would always refer the rather odd ones to him. He also kept running the Homeless Network, making sure that the Yard had them at their disposal as well, especially if the needed confidential informants. Besides, he always made sure every member was fed and had a place to stay, especially in the winter.

Molly Hooper spent her entire career cutting open dead bodies, and she was very happy with it. She had found a new lab assistant, who she later married. They'd had two children, who Alice would often babysit, and adopted two cats after Molly's first one had died. Before the wedding, Alice had talked to her fiance and returned her ruling that he seemed "perfectly normal, not a sociopath at all", although he was fairly tall with darker hair and greenish-blue eyes. Alice shrugged it off, thinking that it was a good enough compromise between her "type" and the sociopaths that she usually fell for. She was happy, and Alice loved visiting their family.

Mrs. Hudson, the fixture that kept Baker Street running, lived out the rest of her life in that flat with her boys, Alice, and the kids. She'd lived a long, eventful life, and passed away peacefully a little while after Archie had started university. Everything she had had been willed to her tenants. They kept the building, leasing out the spare flat to Billy, but everything else was distributed to pay for Archie's schooling and to members of the Homeless Network.

John's surgery expanded and took on a few new doctors, and he had a successful practice for years that was handed down to one of the best doctors he had ever worked with. He retired to the country, buying a house near the one Sherlock and Alice had bought when they retired. He was there for every holiday, when they all took turns hosting and cooking dinner. He became an uncle to Archie, just like Sherlock and Alice became an uncle and aunt to Rosie. He was there for Archie's graduation, and was one of the loudest people in the crowd when his nephew's name was called. He wrote a lot about his experiences in the army and working with Sherlock, which gave him a comfortable amount of money to retire with and to help fund Rosie's education.

Rosie followed in her aunt and uncle's footsteps, graduating from university and going into Scotland Yard, where she worked homicide investigations with Alice's unit until she realized that she had much more interest in government work, transferring to MI6. Uncle Mycroft helped her to get into a good position in the organization, and was the one who supported her decision to work out of the country on investigations that always made John worry. He was the one who went to talk to John, finally convincing him to let her go. She won a lot of battles for the country, although no one would ever get to know, since they were, and would be for 100 years, highly classified.

Archie went into medicine, taking over John's practice and building it up even more. He would visit his parents in the country whenever he had time off, and eventually realized how strange of an upbringing he had actually had. Not everyone had pictures of crime scenes wallpapering their living room, or eyeballs in jars in the fridge. Not every kid's dad helped with their science projects, and when they did, they were never as complicated as his. And not everyone's mother had so many battle stories. But they were always involved in his life, showing up for career day and going to all his sporting events. Alice made sure they would give him the upbringing that he deserved, and in turn, he was the surrogate child that she could never have.

As for Sherlock & Alice, they worked until their bodies could take it no longer. Not being able to chase criminals like they used to, they bought a house in the country, where Sherlock took up beekeeping and Alice answered the hundreds of letters and emails that still were streaming in, asking for help or advice. She would handle the clients that had found out where they lived and tracked them down, showing up in their living room unexpectedly. Every few years, there would be a case that no one could solve, not even Billy, who had taken over for Alice when she left. They would head back to London, staying in the flat in the little building that they let out, and they would go back to the Yard. Always the detectives, they would be on call for the rest of their lives.

Once a week, Alice would go down the road to a little house occupied by two women that they had now known for much of their lives. Or there would be a knock on the door, one or both of them showing up to say hello. She, Irene, and Janine would spend afternoons playing cards or going out to the theatre, or sometimes shopping in the nearest little town. Or they would come over for dinner, John nearly always joining them around the table. John would come to visit all of the time too, helping Sherlock with the bees or Alice in the garden. He was also wonderful about helping her answer letters, since Sherlock only took an interest in the absolutely absurd ones. Ultimately, he would move into one of their spare rooms (on Rosie's insistence) after he had broken a hip one winter.

The three of them could never really escape the cases their old lives brought them, though. The letters, the phone calls, and the visitors they received never really let the adventures end, even when their most famous, signature cases had been boxed away or shelved in their library. They were truly the last refuge for those in need, those who were desperate enough to reach out for the only option that they had left. When things got too strange, too impossible, or too frightening to handle alone, they were always the last hope for those in search of answers. When everything else failed, when all other options had been exhausted, there were the three of them, gathered around the fireplace of a little home in the countryside, as if they had always been there and always will. They were some of the best and wisest people the world had ever known - the Holmeses and Dr. Watson.

* * *

A.N.: Well, there we go. I've literally written something as long as a novel, and I've told such a story. Thank you all for reading this and sticking with it. Thank you to everyone who leaves reviews, and everyone who reads. Thank you all so much for bearing with my publishing schedule and thank you all for your support. It means so much to me. On to finish my first novel and start another one, now that I have no other writing projects to distract me... I know I've used this as a distraction more than a handful of times. Thanks again, loves. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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